VALLINGFORD 


GEORGE 

RANDOLPH 

CHESTER 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Fannie 


YOUNG 
WALLINGFORD 


B, 

GEORGE  RANDOLPH  CHESTER 


Author  of 

THE  EARLY  BIRD 

THE  MAKING  OF  BOBBY  BURNIT 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

F.  R.  GRUGER  tf  HENRY  RALEIGH 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  iglO 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO- 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


"5505 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I    Wix  BEGINS  TO  THINK I 

II    EASY  MONEY 12 

III  YOUNG  Wix  TAKES  A  HAND       .        .  25 

IV  THE  EASIEST  WAY 38 

V  Wix  DISAPPEARS  FOREVER        ....      52 

VI    A  SAD  DISAPPOINTMENT 61 

VII  A  GREEN-GOODS  PLAYLET          ....     72 

VIII    THE  DOUBLE  CROSS 86 

IX    SPOILING  THE  EGYPTIANS 101 

X  EATING  CAKE  AND  HAVING  IT    .       .       .       .    in 

XI    A  BRIEF  CHARACTER  BIT 126 

XII  WALUNGFORD  Is  FROZEN  Our  .       .       .       .144 

XIII  BEAUTY  IN  THE  SPOT-LIGHT       .       .       .       .158 

XIV  AN  OLD  SCORE  EVENED  UP       .       .       .       .172 
XV    TAKING  His  MONEY 183 

XVI    ENJOYING  THEMSELVES 201 

XVII  J.  RUFUS  SEEKS  INVESTMENT      ....    219 

XVIII  SPECULATION  IN  REAL  ESTATE  .        .       .       .231 

XIX    A  GREAT  ART  CENTER 251 

XX    ETRUSCAN  BLACK  MUD 264 

XXI  THE  GREAT  VITTOREO  MATTEO        .       .       .    279 

XXII  THE  SURPRISE  OF  His  LIFE        .       .       .       .288 

XXIII  STILL  ANOTHER  SURPRISE          ....    298 

XXIV  A  STRAIGHT  BUSINESS 306 

XXV  THE  SCIATACATA  COMPANY         ....    318 

XXVI    A  DELUSION  AND  A  SNARE 331 

XXVII  LAUGH  AT  THAT  WOOZY  FEELING      .       .       .341 


2226121- 


YOUNG 
WALLINGFORD 

CHAPTER  I 

WHEREIN  JONATHAN  REUBEN  WIX  BEGINS  TO  THINK 

A  NATURAL  again !"  exulted  Jonathan  Reu- 
ben Wix,  as  the  dice  bounded  from  his 
plump  hand  and  came  to  rest  upon  the  billiard-table 
in  Leiniger's  Select  Cafe,  with  a  five  and  a  deuce 
showing.  "Somebody  ring  the  bell  for  me,  because 
I'm  a-going  to  get  off." 

He  was  a  large  young  man  in  every  dimension, 
broad  of  chest  and  big  and  pink  of  face  and  jovial 
of  eye,  and  he  chuckled  as  he  passed  the  dice  to  his 
left-hand  neighbor.  There  was  a  hundred  dollars  on 
the  table  and  he  gathered  it  up  in  a  wad. 

"Good-by,  boys,  and  many  merry  thanks  for  these 
kind  contributions,"  he  bantered  as  he  stuffed  the 
money  into  his  pocket.    "It's  me   for  Bunkville- 
amidst-the-ferry-boats,  on  the  next  Limited." 
I 


2  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

He  was  back  in  less  than  three  days,  having  spent 
just  twenty-four  hours  in  New  York.  The  impul- 
sively decided  journey  was  nothing  unusual  for  him, 
but  it  had  an  intimate  bearing  upon  his  future  in 
that  it  forced  upon  him  the  confidence  of  secretive 
Clifford  Oilman,  who  lived  next  door. 

"Home  so  soon?"  inquired  Oilman  in  surpn 
"They  must  have  robbed  you !" 

"Robbed!"  laughed  Wix.  "I  should  say  not.  1 
didn't  waste  a  cent.  Railroad  ticket,  sleepers,  meals 
and  extra  fare  on  the  Limited  cost  twenty-five  each 
way.  That  left  fifty.  My  room  at  the  hotel  cost  five 
dollars:  Breakfast  was  two  dollars;  morning  drive 
through  Central  Park,  four ;  lunch,  three-fifty;  mat- 
inee ticket,  with  cab  each  way,  five;  dinner,  eight, 
with  the  ordinary  champagne  of  commerce;  theater 
and  cab  hire,  five-fifty;  supper,  twelve,  including  a 
bottle  of  real  champagne  at  eight  dollars,  and  the 
balance  in  tips." 

Clifford  gasped  as  he  hungrily  reviewed  these 
luscious  items. 

Young  Oilman  was  not  one  of  those  who  had  been 
in  the  game  by  which  Wix  had  won  a  hundred.  He 
never  played  dice,  did  young  Oilman,  nor  poker,  nor 
bet  on  a  horse  race,  nor  drank,  nor  even  smoked ; 


WIX    BEGINS   TO   THINK  3 

but  wore  curly,  silken  sideburns,  and  walked  up  the 
same  side  of  Main  Street  every  morning  to  the  bank, 
with  his  lunch  in  a  little  imitation-leather  box.  He 
walked  back  down  the  same  side  of  Main  Street 
every  evening.  If  he  had  happened  to  take  the  other 
side  on  any  morning,  before  noon  there  would  have 
been  half  a  dozen  conservative  depositors  to  ask  old 
Smalley,  who  owned  the  bank,  why  Clifford  had 
crossed  over. 

Young  Oilman  was  popularly  regarded  as  a 
"sissy,"  but  that  he  had  organs,  dimensions  and 
senses,  and  would  bleed  if  pricked,  was  presently 
evidenced  to  Mr.  Wix  in  a  startling  proposition. 

"Look  here,  Wix,"  said  Gilman,  lowering  his 
voice  to  a  mystery- fraught  undertone,  "I'm  going  to 
take  a  little  trip  and  I  want  you  to  come  along." 

"Behave!"  admonished  Wix.  "It  would  be  awful 
reckless  in  me  to  go  with  a  regular  little  devil  like 
you;  and  besides,  sarsaparilla  and  peanuts  tear  up 
my  system  so." 

"I've  got  three  hundred  dollars,"  stated  Gilman 
calmly.  "Does  that  sound  like  sarsaparilla  and  pea- 
nuts ?" 

"I'm  listening,"  said  Wix  with  sudden  interest. 
"Where  did  you  get  it,  mister?" 


4  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Gilman  looked  around  them  nervously,  then  spoke 
in  an  eager  whisper,  clutching  Wix  by  the  arm. 

"Saved  it  up,  but  like  you  do.  I  saw  the  wisdom 
1  of  your  way  long  ago.  Old  Smalley  makes  me  put 
half  my  salary  in  the  bank,  but  I  pinch  out  a  little 
more  than  that,  and  every  time  I  get  twenty  dollars 
on  the  side,  I  invest  it  in  margin  wheat,  by  mail. 
Most  often  I  lose,  but  when  I  d,o  win  I  keep  on  until 
it  amounts  to  something.  Of  course,  I'm  laying  my- 
self open  to  you  in  this.  If  old  Smalley  found  it  out 
he'd  discharge  me  on  the  spot." 

Wix  chuckled. 

"I  know,"  he  agreed.  "My  mother  once  wanted 
me  to  apply  for  that  job.  I  went  to  see  old  Smalley, 
and  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  examine  my  fingers 
for  cigarette  stains.  'You  won't  find  any,'  I  told 
him,  'for  I  use  a  holder,'  and  I  showed  him  the 
holder.  Of  course,  that  settled  my  case  with  Smal- 
ley; but  do  you  know  that  he  smokes  after-dinner 
cigarettes  away  from  home,  and  has  beer  and 
whisky  and  three  kinds  of  wine  in  his  cellar?  I've 
got  his  number,  all  right,  but  I  didn't  have  little 
Clifford's.  Where  do  you  hide  it?" 

"In  the  bank  and  here  at  home,"  returned  Gilman 
.with  a  snarl;  "and  I've  been  at  it  so  long  I'm  be- 


WIX    BEGINS   TO   THINK  5 

ginning  to  curdle.  You've  worked  in  every  mer- 
cantile establishment,  factory  and  professional  of- 
fice in  town,  and  never  cared  to  hold  a  job.  Yet 
everybody  likes  you.  You  drink,  smoke,  gamble 
and  raise  the  dickens  generally.  You  don't  save  a 
cent  and  yet  you  always  manage  to  have  money. 
You  dress  swell  and  don't  amount  to  a  tinker's 
cuss,  yet  you're  happy  all  day  long.  Come  along 
to  the  Putnam  County  Fair  and  show  me  how." 

"The  Putnam  County  Fair!"  repeated  Wix. 
"Two  hundred  miles  to  get  a  drink?" 

"I  can't  take  one  any  closer,  can  I?"  demanded 
Oilman  savagely.  "But  the  real  reason  is  that  Uncle 
Thomas  lives  there.  I  can  go  to  visit  Uncle  Thomas 
when  I  wouldn't  be  allowed  to  'go  on  the  cars  alone' 
anywhere  else.  But  uncle  is  a  good  fellow  and  his 
wife  don't  write  to  my  mother.  He  tells  me  to  go 
ahead ;  and  I  don't  need  go  near  him  unless  I'm  in 
trouble." 

"Some  time  I'll  borrow  your  Uncle  Tom," 
laughed  Wix.  "He  sounds  good  to  me." 

Mrs.  Gilman  came  to  the  door.  She  was  a  thin, 
nervous,  little  woman,  with  a  long  chin  and  a  nar- 
row forehead. 

"Come  in,  Cliffy,"  she  urged  in  a  shrill,  wheedling 


6  YOUNG  WALLINGFORD 

voice.  "You  must  have  a  good,  long  night's  rest  for 
your  trip  in  the  morning."  In  reality  she  was  wor- 
ried to  have  her  Clifford  talking  with  the  graceless 
Wix— though  secretly  she  admired  Jonathan 
Reuben. 

"I  must  go  in  now,"  said  Oilman  hastily.  "Go 
down  to  the  train  in  the  morning  and  get  in  on  the 
other  side,  so  mother  won't  see  you.  And  don't  tell 
your  mother  where  you've  gone." 

"She  won't  ask,"  responded  Wix,  laughing. 
"Nothing  ever  worries  mother  except  our  name.  I 
don't  like  it  myself,  but  I  don't  worry  over  it.  It 
isn't  my  fault,  and  it  was  hers." 

If  Wix  felt  any  trace  of  bitterness  over  his 
mother's  indifference  he  never  confessed  it,  even  to 
himself.  Mrs.  Wix,  left  a  sufficient  income  by  the 
late  unloved,  lived  entirely  by  routine,  with  a  sep- 
arate, complacent  function  for  every  afternoon  of 
the  week.  She  was  very  comfortable,  and  plump, 
and  placid,  was  Mrs.  Wix,  and  Jonathan  Reuben 
was  merely  an  excrescence  upon  her  scheme  of  life. 
Jonathan  Reuben,  however,  had  no  lack  of  fem- 
inine sympathy.  Quite  a  little  clique  of  dashing 
young  matrons,  with  old  or  dryly  preoccupied  hus- 
bands, vied  with  the  girls  to  make  him  happy. 


WIX    BEGINS   TO   THINK  7 

In  the  present  instance,  young  Wix  was  quite 
right  about  his  mother's  indifference.  He  called  to 
her  as  he  went  down  to  early  breakfast  that  he 
might  not  be  back  for  a  few  days,  and  she  sleepily 
answered.  "All  right."  So  Clifford  and  his  instruc- 
tor went  to  the  fair,  and  the  more  experienced 
spendthrift  showed  the  amateur  how  to  get  rid  of 
his  money,  to  their  mutual  gratification. 

Back  of  the  Streets  of  Cairo,  on  the  closing  day, 
Wix  and  Oilman,  hunting  a  drink,  found  a  neat 
young  man  with  piercing  black  eyes  and  black  hair, 
who  upon  the  previous  days  had  been  making  a 
surreptitious  hand-book  on  the  races.  Just  now  he 
was  advising  an  interested  group  of  men  that  money 
would  not  grow  in  their  pockets. 

"If  your  eye  is  quicker  than  my  hand  you  get  my 
dollars,"  he  singsonged  as  he  deftly  shifted  three 
English  walnut  shells  about  on  a  flimsy  folding 
stand.  "If  my  hand  is  quicker  than  your  eye,  I  get 
your  dollars.  Here  they  go,  three  in  a  row.  They're 
all  set,  and  here's  a  double  sawbuck  for  some  gentle- 
man with  a  like  amount  of  wealth  and  a  keen  eye 
and  a  little  courage.  Where,  oh,  where,  is  the  little 
pea?" 

The  location  of  the  little  pea  was  so  obvious  that 


g  YOUNG  WALLINGFORD 

it  seemed  a  shame  to  take  the  black-eyed  young 
man's  money,  for  just  as  he  had  stopped  moving  the 
shells,  Wix  and  Gilman,  pressing  up,  saw  that  the 
edge  of  the  left-hand  shell  had  rested  upon  the  rub- 
ber "pea"  and  had  immediately  closed  over  it.  Not- 
withstanding this  slip  on  the  part  of  the  operator, 
there  seemed  some  reluctance  on  the  part  of  the 
audience  to  invest;  instead,  with  what  might  have 
seemed  almost  suspicious  eagerness,  they  turned 
toward  the  new-comers.  Gilman,  flushed  of  face  and 
muddy  of  eye,  and  hiccoughing  slightly— though 
iWix,  who  had  drunk  with  him  drink  for  drink,  was 
clean  and  normal  and  his  usual  jovial,  clear-eyed 
self — hastily  pressed  in  before  any  one  else  should 
take  advantage  of  the  golden  chance. 

"Don't,  Gilman,"  cautioned  Wix,  and  grabbed 
him  by  the  arm,  but  Clifford,  still  eager,  jerked  his 
arm  away ;  and  it  was  strange  how  all  those  who  had 
been  packed  around  the  board  made  room  for  him. 
"Here's  the  boy  with  the  nerve  and  the  money," 
commented  the  black-eyed  one  as  he  took  Mr.  Gil- 
man's  twenty  and  flaunted  it  in  the  air  with  his  own. 
"Now  lift  up  the  little  shell.  If  the  little  pea  is  under 
it  you  get  the  twin  twenties.  Lovely  twins!"  He 
laughed  and  kissed  them  lightly.  "It's  only  a  ques- 


WIX    BEGINS    TO    THINK  9 

tion,"  he  shouted  loudly,  as  Oilman  prepared  to 
make  his  choice,  "of  whether  your  eye  is  quicker 
than  my  hand." 

Confidently  Mr.  Oilman  picked  up  the  left-hand 
shell,  and  a  ludicrously  bewildered  look  came  over 
his  face  as  he  saw  that  the  pellet  was  not  under  it. 
There  was  a  laugh  from  the  crowd.  They  had 
been  waiting  for  another  victim.  Oilman  looked 
hastily  down  at  the  trampled  mass  of  straw  and 
grass  and  muddy,  black  earth. 

"The  elusive  little  pea  is  not  on  the  ground," 
explained  the  brisk  young  man.  "The  elusive  little 
pea  is  right  here  on  the  board  in  plain  sight." 

To  prove  it  he  lifted  up  the  center  shell  and  dis- 
played the  pellet!  There  was  another  laugh.  Not 
one  person  in  that  crowd  liad  seen  the  dexterous 
movement  of  his  little  finger,  so  quick  and  certain 
that  it  was  scarcely  more  than  a  quiver;  but,  to 
make  sure  that  his  "quickness  of  hand"  had  not  been 
detected,  he  scanned  every  face  about  him  swiftly 
and  piercingly.  In  this  inspection  his  eye  happened 
to  light  on  that  of  Jonathan  Reuben  Wix,  and  met 
a  wink  so  knowing,  and  withal  so  bubbling  with 
gleeful  appreciation,  that  he  was  himself  forced  to 
grin. 


10 


YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 


"How  you've  wasted  your  young  life,"  com- 
mented Wix  as  he  led  away  his  still  dazed  compan- 
ion. "I  thought  everybody  knew  that  trick  by  this 
time,  but  I  guess  postmasters  and  bank  clerks  are  al- 
ways exempt." 

"But  how  did  he  do  it?"  protested  Oilman.  "I 
saw  that  little  ball  under  the  left-hand  shell  as  plain 
as  day." 

"That's  what  he  meant  you  to  see,"  returned  Wix 
with  a  grin.  "He  let  that  one  stop  under  the  edge 
as  if  he  were  awkward,  then  he  flipped  it  into  the 
crook  of  his  little  ringer.  When  he  lifted  the  middle 
shell  he  shoved  the  ball  under  it.  At  the  time  you 
picked  yours  up  there  wasn't  a  ball  under  any  of  the 
three  shells.  There  never  is." 

"I  guess  it's  too  late  for  me  to  get  an  education," 
sighed  the  other  plaintively.  "Smalley  won't  give 
me  a  chance.  I  don't  even  dare  buy  a  new  suit  of 
clothes  too  often.  I'd  never  see  a  bit  of  life  if  it 
wasn't  for  this  wheat  speculation." 

Wix  turned  to  him  slowly. 

"You  want  to  let  that  game  alone,"  he  cautioned. 

"Oh,  I'm  cautious  enough,"  returned  Oilman. 

"You're  almost  in  full  charge  at  the  bank  now, 


WIX   BEGINS   TO   THINK  11 

aren't  you?"  observed  Wix  carelessly.  "Smalley's 
over  at  his  new  bank  in  Milton  a  good  deal." 

"About  half  the  time,"  admitted  Oilman  uneasily. 

"He  keeps  a  big  cash  reserve,  doesn't  he  ?  Done  up 
in  bales,  I  suppose,  and  never  looks  at  it  except  to 
count  the  mere  bundles." 

"Of  course."  Oilman  was  extremely  nonchalant 
about  it. 

The  other  let  him  change  the  subject,  but  he 
found  himself  studying  Clifford  speculatively  every 
now  and  then.  This  day  was  another  deciding  step  in 
the  future  of  Wix. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  BLACK-EYED  YOUNG  MAN  DISCOURSES  OF  EASY 
MONEY 

IT  was  to  Jonathan  Reuben  that  the  waiters 
in  the  dining-car  paid  profound  attention, 
although  Oilman  had  the  money.  There  was  some- 
thing about  young  Wix's  breadth  of  chest  and  pink- 
ness  of  countenance  and  clearness  of  smiling  eye 
which  marked  him  as  one  with  whom  good  food 
agreed,  whom  good  liquor  cheered,  and  whom  good 
service  thawed  to  the  point  of  gratitude  and  gratu- 
ities: whereas  Clifford  Oilman,  take  him  any  place, 
was  only  background,  and  not  much  of  that. 

"Say,  General  Jackson,"  observed  Wix  pleasantly 
to  the  waiter,  "put  a  quart  of  bubbles  in  the  freezer 
while  we  study  over  this  form  sheet.  Then  bring 
us  a  dry  Martini,  not  out  of  a  bottle." 

"I  reckon  you're  going  to  have  about  what  you 
want,  boss,"  said  the  negro  with  a  grin,  and  darted 
away. 

12 


EASY    MONEY  13 

He  talked  with  the  steward,  who  first  frowned, 
then  smiled,  as  he  looked  back  and  saw  the  particular 
guest.  A  moment  later  he  was  mixing,  and  Clifford 
Gilman  gazed  upon  his  friend  with  most  worship- 
ful eyes.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  comrade  of  whom  to 
be  proud,  and  by  whom  to  pattern! 

They  had  swallowed  their  oysters  and  had  fin- 
ished their  soup,  with  a  quart  of  champagne  in 
a  frosty  silver  bucket  beside  them  and  the  entree 
on  the  way,  when  the  "captain"  was  compelled  to 
seat  a  third  passenger  at  their  table.  It  was  the 
black-eyed  young  man  of  the  walnut  shells. 

At  first,  as  with  his  quick  sweep  he  recognized  in 
Mr.  Gilman  one  of  his  victims,  he  hesitated,  but  a 
glance  at  the  jovial  Mr.  Wix  reassured  him. 

"We're  just  going  to  open  a  bottle  of  joy,"  in- 
vited Wix.  "Shall  I  send  for  another  glass  ?" 

"Surest  thing,  you  know,"  replied  the  other.  "I'm 
some  partial  to  headache  water." 

"This  is  on  the  victim,"  observed  Wix  with  a 
laugh,  as  the  cork  was  pulled.  "You  see  he  has 
coin  left,  even  after  attending  your  little  party." 

"Pity  I  didn't  know  he  was  so  well  padded," 
grinned  the  black-eyed  one,  whereat  all  three 
laughed,  Gilman  more  loudly  than  any  of  them. 


u  YOUNG  WALLINGFORD 

Gilman  ceased  laughing,  however,  to  struggle  with 

his  increasing  tendency  toward  cross-eyes. 

Wix  turned  to  him  with  something  of  contempt 

-He  don't  mind  the  loss  of  twenty  or  so,"  he 
dryly  observed.  "He's  in  a  business  where  he  sees 
nothing  but  money  all  day  long.  He's  a  highly 
trusted  bank  clerk." 

Instead  of  glancing  with  interest  at  Mr.  Gilman, 
the  black-eyed  young  man  sharply  scrutinized  Mr. 
Wix.  Then  he  smiled. 

"And  what  line  are  you  in?"  he  finally  asked  of 

,Wix. 

"I've  been  in  everything,"  confessed  that  joyous 
young  gentleman  with  a  chuckle,  "and  stayed  in 
nothing.    Just  now,  I'm  studying  law." 
"Doing  nothing  on  the  side?" 
"Not  a  thing." 

"He  can't  save  any  money  to  go  into  anything 
else,"  laughed  Gilman,  momentarily  awakened  into  a 
surprising  semblance  of  life.  "Every  time  he  gets 
fifty  dollars  he  goes  out  of  town  to  buy  a  fancy 
meal." 

"You  were  born  for  easy  money,"  the  black-eyed 
one  advised  Wix.  "It's  that  sort  of  a  lip  that  drives 
us  all  into  the  shearing  business." 


EASY   MONEY  15 

Wix  shook  his  head. 

"Not  me,"  said  he.  "The  law  books  prove  that 
easy  money  costs  too  much." 

The  black-eyed  one  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"In  certain  lines  it  does,"  he  admitted.  "I'm 
going  to  get  out  of  my  line  right  away,  for  that  very 
reason."  Besides,"  he  added  with  a  sigh,  "these 
educated  town  constables  are  putting  the  business  on 
the  bump-the-bumps.  They've  got  so  they  want 
from  half  to  two-thirds,  and  put  a  bookkeeper  on 
the  job." 

Mr.  Gilman  presently  created  a  diversion  by  emit- 
ting a  faint  whoop,  and  immediately  afterward  went 
to  sleep  in  the  bread-platter.  Wix  sent  for  the  porter 
of  their  sleeping-car,  and  between  the  two  they  put 
Mr.  Gilman  to  bed.  Before  Wix  returned  to  the  shell 
expert  he  carefully  extracted  the  money  from  his 
friend  Clifford's  pocket. 

"He  won't  need  it,  anyhow,"  he  lightly  explained, 
"and  we  will.  I'll  tell  him  about  it  in  the  morning." 

"I  guess  you  can  do  that  and  make  him  like  it 
all  right,"  agreed  the  other.  "He's  a  born  sucker. 
He  can  get  to  the  fat  money,  can't  he?" 

Wix  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  declared;  "parents  poor,  and  I  don't 


16  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

think  he  has  enough  ginger  in  him  ever  to  make  a 
pile  of  his  own." 

The  other  was  thoughtful  and  smiling  for  a  time. 

"He'll  get  hold  of  it  some  way  or  other,  mark 
what  I  tell  you,  and  you  might  just  as  well  have  it  as 
anybody.  Somebody's  going  to  cop  it.  I  think  you 
said  you  lived  in  Filmore  ?  Suppose  I  drop  through 
there  with  a  quick-turn  proposition  that  would  need 
two  or  three  thousand,  and  would  show  that  much 
profit  in  a  couple  of  months?  If  you  help  me  pull  it 
through  I'll  give  you  a  slice  out  of  it." 

Wix  was  deeply  thoughtful,  but  he  made  no  reply. 

"You  don't  live  this  way  all  the  time,  and  you'd 
like  to,"  urged  the  other.  "There's  no  reason  you 
shouldn't.  Why,  man,  the  bulk  of  this  country  is 
composed  of  suckers  that  are  able  to  lay  hands  on 
from  one  to  ten  thousand  apiece.  They'll  spend  ten 
years  to  get  it  and  can  be  separated  from  it  in  ten 
minutes.  You're  one  of  the  born  separators.  You 
were  cut  out  for  nothing  but  easy  money." 

Easy  money !  The  phrase  sank  into  the  very  soul 
of  Jonathan  Reuben  Wix.  Every  professional,  com- 
mercial and  manufacturing  man  who  knew  him  had 
predicted  for  him  a  brilliant  future;  but  they  had 
given  him  false  credit  for  his  father's  patience  to 


EASY    MONEY  17 

plod  for  years.  Heredity  had  only  given  him,  upon 
his  father's  side,  selfishness  and  ingenuity ;  upon  his 
mother's  side,  selfishness  and  a  passion  for  luxurious 
comfort,  and  now,  at  twenty-six,  he  was  still  a 
young  man  without  any  prospect  whatsoever. 

Easy  money !  He  was  still  dreaming  of  it ;  look- 
ing lazily  for  chance  to  throw  it  his  way,  and  read- 
ing law,  commercial  law  principally,  in  a  desultory 
fashion,  though  absorbing  more  than  he  knew,  when 
one  day,  about  six  months  afterward,  the  black- 
haired  young  man  landed  in  Filmore.  He  was 
growing  a  sparse,  jet-black  mustache  now,  and 
wore  a  solemn,  black  frock-coat  which  fitted  his 
slender  frame  like  a  glove.  He  walked  first  into  the 
Filmore  Bank,  and  by  his  mere  appearance  there 
nearly  scared  Clifford  Gilman  into  fits. 

"I  guess  you  don't  remember  me,"  said  the 
stranger  with  a  smile.  "My  name  is  Horace  G. 
Daw,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  doing  a  little  busi- 
ness with  you  at  the  Putnam  County  Fair." 

"Yes,  I — I — remember,"  admitted  Gilman,  thank- 
ful that  there  were  no  depositors  in,  and  looking 
apprehensively  out  of  the  door.  "What  can  I  do 
for  you?" 

"I  have  a  little  business  opportunity  that  I  think 


i8  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

would  about  suit  you,"  said  Mr.  Daw,  reaching 
toward  his  inside  coat  pocket. 

"Not  here;  not  here!"  Gilman  nervously  inter- 
rupted him.  "Somebody  might  come  in  at  any  min- 
ute, even  Mr.  Smalley  himself.  He's  started  for 
the  train,  but  he  might  come  back." 

"When,  then,  can  I  see  you?"  demanded  Daw, 
seeing  that  Gilman  was  afraid  of  him.  He  had  in- 
tended to  meet  the  young  man  upon  terms  of  jovial 
cordiality,  but  this  was  better. 

"Any  time  you  say,  out  of  hours/'  said  Gilman. 

"Then  suppose  you  come  down  to  the  Grand 
Hotel  at  from  seven-thirty  to  eight  o'clock." 

"All  right,"  gulped  Gilman.   "I'll  be  there." 

Under  the  circumstances  Mr.  Daw  changed  his 
plans  immediately.  He  had  meant  to  hunt  up  Mr. 
Wix  also,  but  now  he  most  emphatically  did  not 
wish  to  do  so,  and  kept  very  closely  to  his  hotel.  Mr. 
Gilman,  on  the  contrary,  did  wish  to  find  Mr.  Wix, 
and  hunted  frantically  for  him ;  but  Wix,  that  day, 
obeying  a  sudden  craving  for  squab,  had  gone  fifty 
miles  to  dine ! 

Alone,  then,  Gilman  went  in  fear  and  trembling 
to  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  was  very  glad  indeed  to  be 
sheltered  from  sight  in  Mr.  Daw's  room. 


EASY    MONEY  19 

What  would  Mr.  Oilman  have  to  drink  ?  Nothing, 
thank  you.  No,  no  wine.  A  highball?  No,  not 
a  highball.  Some  beer?  Not  any  beer,  thank  you. 
Nevertheless,  Mr.  Daw  ordered  a  pitcher  of  draft 
beer  with  two  glasses,  and  Mr.  Gilman  found  him- 
self sipping  eagerly  at  it  almost  before  he  knew  it: 
for  after  an  enforced  abstinence  of  months,  that  beer 
tasted  like  honey.  Also,  it  was  warming  to  the  heart 
and  exhilarating  to  the  brain,  and  it  enabled  him 
to  listen  better  to  the  wonderful  opportunity  Mr. 
Daw  had  to  offer  him. 

It  seemed  that  Mr.  Daw  had  obtained  exclusive 
inside  information  about  the  Red  Mud  Gold  Mine. 
Three  genuine  miners — presumably  top-booted, 
broad-hatted  and  red  neck-kerchiefed — had  incorpo- 
rated that  company,  and,  keeping  sixty  per  cent,  of 
the  stock  for  themselves,  had  placed  forty  per  cent, 
of  it  in  the  East  for  sale.  As  paying  ore  had  not 
been  found  in  it,  after  weary  months  of  prospecting, 
one  of  the  three  partners  brought  his  twenty  per 
cent,  of  the  stock  East,  and  Mr.  Daw  had  bought  it 
for  a  song.  A  song,  mind  you,  a  mere  nothing.  Mr. 
Daw,  moreover,  knew  where  the  other  forty  per 
cent,  had  been  sold,  and  it,  too,  could  be  bought  for 
a  song.  But  now  here  came  the  point.  After  the 


20  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

departure  of  the  disgruntled  third  partner  the  others 
had  found  gold!  The  two  fortunate  miners  were, 
however,  carefully  concealing  their  good  luck,  be- 
cause they  were  making  most  strenuous  endeavors 
to  raise  enough  money  to  buy  in  the  outstanding 
stock  before  the  holders  realized  its  value. 

Mr.  Oilman,  pouring  another  amber  glassful  for 
himself,  nodded  his  head  in  vast  appreciation.  Smart 
men,  those  miners. 

Mr.  Daw  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  glean 
these  facts  from  a  returned  miner  whom  he  had 
befriended  in  early  years,  and  fortunate  enough,  too, 
to  secure  samples  of  the  ore,  all  of  which  had  hap- 
pened within  the  past  week.  Here  was  one  of  the 
samples.  Look  at  those  flecks!  Those  were  gold, 
virgin  gold! 

Mr.  Oilman  feasted  his  eyes  on  those  flecks,  their 
precious  color  richly  enhanced  when  seen  through 
four  glasses  of  golden  beer.  That  was  actually  gold, 
in  the  raw  state.  He  strove  to  comprehend  it. 

Here  was  the  certified  report  of  the  assay,  on 
the  letter-head  of  the  chemist  who  had  examined  the 
ore.  It  ran  a  hundred  and  sixty-three  dollars  to  the 
ton!  Marvelous;  perfectly  marvelous!  Mr.  Daw 
himself,  even  as  he  showed  the  assay,  admired  it 


EASY    MONEY  21 

over  and  over.  As  for  Mr.  Gilman,  words  could 
not  explain  how  he  was  impressed.  A  genuine  assay ! 

Now,  here  is  what  Mr.  Daw  had  done.  Im- 
mediately upon  receiving  the  report  upon  this  assay 
he  had  scraped  together  all  the  money  he  could,  and 
had  bought  up  an  additional  ten  per  cent,  of  the 
stock  of  that  company,  which  left  him  holding  thirty 
per  cent.  Also,  he  had  secured  an  option  upon  the 
thirty  per  cent,  still  outstanding.  That  additional 
thirty  per  cent,  could  be  secured,  if  it  were  pur- 
chased at  once,  for  three  thousand  dollars.  Now,  if 
Mr.  Gilman  could  invest  that  much  money,  or  knew 
any  one  who  could,  by  pooling  their  stock  Mr.  Gil- 
man and  Mr.  Daw  would  have  sixty  per  cent,  of 
the  total  incorporated  stock  of  the  company,  and 
would  thus  hold  control.  Mr.  Gilman  certainly 
knew  what  that  meant. 

Mr.  Gilman  did,  for  Mr.  Smalley's  Filmore  Bank 
had  been  started  as  a  stock  company,  with  Mr.  Smal- 
ley  holding  control,  and  by  means  of  that  control 
Mr.  Smalley  had  been  able  to  vote  himself  sufficient 
salary  to  be  able  to  buy  up  the  balance  of  the  stock, 
so  that  now  it  was  all  his;  but  Mr.  Gilman  could 
not  see  where  it  was  possible  for  him  to  secure  three 
thousand  dollars  for  an  investment  of  this  nature. 


22  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

An  investment?  Mr.  Daw  objected.  This  was 
not  an  investment  at  all.  It  was  merely  the  laying 
down  of  three  thousand  dollars  and  immediately 
picking  it  up  again  fourfold.  Why,  having  secured 
this  stock,  all  they  had  to  do  was  to  let  the  secret 
of  the  finding  of  the  hundred-and-sixty-three-dollar- 
a-ton  gold  be  known,  and,  having  control  to  offer, 
they  could  immediately  sell  it,  anywhere,  for  four 
times  what  they  had  paid  for  it.  The  entire  trans- 
action need  not  take  a  week :  it  need  not  take  four 
days. 

Now,  here  is  what  Mr.  Daw  would  do — that  is, 
after  he  had  ordered  another  pitcher  of  beer.  He 
had  the  thirty  per  cent,  of  stock  with  him.  He 
spread  it  out  before  Mr.  Oilman.  It  was  most 
beautifully  printed  stock,  on  the  finest  of  bond  paper, 
with  gold-leaf  letters,  a  crimson  border  and  green 
embellishments,  and  was  carefully  numbered  in 
metallic  blue.  It  was  also  duly  transferred  in  the 
name  of  Horace  G.  Daw.  Mr.  Daw  would  do  this : 
In  order  that  Mr.  Gilman  might  be  protected  from 
the  start,  Mr.  Daw  would,  upon  taking  Mr.  Gilman's 
three  thousand,  make  over  to  Mr.  Gilman  this  very 
stock.  He  would  then  take  Mr.  Gilman's  three 
thousand  and  purchase  the  other  thirty  per  cent,  of 


EASY    MONEY  23 

stock  in  his,  Mr.  Daw's,  own  name,  and  would,  in 
the  meantime,  sign  a  binding  agreement  with  Mr. 
Oilman  that  their  stock  should  be  pooled — that  nei- 
ther should  sell  without  the  consent  of  the  other.  It 
was  a  glorious  opportunity !  Mr.  Daw  was  sorry  he 
could  not  swing  it  all  himself,  but,  being  unable  to 
do  so,  it  immediately  occurred  to  him  that  Mr.  Gil- 
man  was  the  very  man  to  benefit  by  the  opportunity. 

Mr.  Oilman  looked  upon  that  glittering  sample  of 
ore,  that  unimpeachable  certified  assay,  those  beauti- 
fully printed  stock  certificates  of  the  Red  Mud  Gold 
Mining  Company,  and  he  saw  yellow.  Nothing  but 
gold,  rich,  red  mud  gold,  was  in  all  his  safe,  sane 
and  conservative  vision.  Here,  indeed,  was  no  risk, 
for  here  were  proofs  enough  and  to  spare.  Besides, 
the  entire  transaction  was  so  plausible  and  natural. 

"By  George,  I'll  do  it !"  said  Mr.  Oilman,  having 
already,  in  those  few  brief  moments,  planned  what 
he  would  do  with  nine  thousand  dollars  of  profits. 
Mr.  Daw  was  very  loath  to  let  Mr.  Gilman  go  home 
after  this  announcement.  He  tried  to  get  him  to 
stay  all  night,  so  that  they  could  go  right  down  to 
the  bank  together  in  the  morning  and  fix  up  the 
matter;  for  it  must  be  understood  that  a  glittering 
opportunity  like  this  must  be  closed  immediately. 


24  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Mr.  Gilman,  as  a  business  man  of  experience,  could 
appreciate  that.  But  there  were  weighty  reasons 
why  Mr.  Gilman  could  not  do  this,  no  matter  how 
much  he  might  desire  it,  or  see  its  advisability. 
Very  well,  then,  Mr.  Daw  would  simply  draw  up 
that  little  agreement  to  pool  their  stock,  so  that  the 
matter  could  be  considered  definitely  settled,  and 
Mr.  Daw  would  then  wire,  yet  that  night,  to  the 
holders  of  the  remaining  stock  that  he  would  take 
it. 

With  much  gravity  and  even  pomp  the  agreement 
was  drawn  up  and  signed ;  then  Mr.  Gilman,  taking 
the  sage  advice  of  Mr.  Daw,  drank  seltzer  and 
ammonia  and  ate  lemon  peel,  whereupon  he  went 
home,  keeping  squarely  in  the  center  of  the  side- 
walk to  prove  to  himself  that  he  could  walk  a 
straight  line  without  wavering.  Young  Mr.  Daw, 
meanwhile,  clinging  to  that  signed  agreement  as  a 
mariner  to  his  raft,  sat  upon  the  edge  of  his  bed  to 
rejoice  and  to  admire  himself;  for  this  was  Mr. 
Daw's  first  adventure  into  the  higher  and  finer  de- 
grees of  "wise  work,"  and  he  was  quite  naturally 
elated  over  his  own  neatness  and  despatch. 


CHAPTER  III 

YOUNG  WIX  TAKES  A  HAND  IN  THE  BLACK-EYED 
ONE'S  GAME 

THE  glowing  end  of  a  cigar  upon  the  porch  of 
the  adjoining  house  told  Gilman  that  young 
Wix  was  at  home,  and,  full  of  his  important  enter- 
prise, he  stopped  in  front  of  the  Wix  gate  to  gloat. 

"Hello,  Oilman,"  said  Wix,  sauntering  down. 
"Out  pretty  late  for  a  mere  infant  of  twenty-four?" 

"Little  matter  of  business,"  protested  Mr.  Gil- 
man pompously,  glancing  apprehensively  at  the  sec- 
ond-story window,  where  a  shade  was  already 
drawn  aside. 

"Business!"  repeated  Wix.  "They  put  midnight 
business  in  jail  at  daylight." 

"Hush!"  warned  Gilman,  with  another  glance  at 
the  window.  "This  is  different.  This  is  one  of 
those  lucky  strokes  that  I  have  read  about  but  never 
hoped  would  come  my  way,"  and  enthusiastically,  in 
an  undertone  which  Wix  had  to  strain  to  hear,  he 
recited  all  the  details  of  the  golden  opportunity. 
25 


26  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

It  was  not  so  much  experience  as  a  natural  trend 
of  mind  paralleling  Mr.  Daw's  which  made  Mr.  Wix 
smile  to  himself  all  through  this  recital.  He  seemed 
to  foresee  each  step  in  the  plan  before  it  was  told 
him,  and,  when  Mr.  Gilman  was  through,  the  only 
point  about  which  his  friend  was  at  all  surprised,  or 
even  eager,  was  the  matter  of  the  three  thousand. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  can  swing  that 
amount?"  he  demanded. 

"I — I  think  I  can,"  faltered  Mr.  Gilman.  "In 
fact,  I — I'm  very  sure  of  it.  Although,  of  course, 
that's  a  secret,"  he  hastily  added. 

"Where  would  you  get  it?"  asked  Wix  incredu- 
lously. 

"Well,  for  a  sure  thing  like  this,  if  you  must 
know,"  said  Gilman,  gulping,  but  speaking  with  des- 
perately businesslike  decision,  "I  am  sure  Mr.  Smal- 
ley  would  loan  it  to  me.  Although  he  wouldn't 
want  it  known,"  he  again  added  quickly.  "If  you'd 
speak  to  him  about  it  he'd  deny  it,  and  might  even 
make  me  trouble  for  being  so  loose-tongued ;  so, 
of  course,  nobody  must  know." 

"I  see,"  said  Wix  slowly.  "Well,  Cliff,  you  just 
pass  up  this  tidy  little  fortune." 

"Pass  it  up!" 


YOUNG    WIX    TAKES    A    HAND       27 

"Yes,  let  it  slide  on  by.  Look  on  it  with  scorn. 
Wriggle  your  fingers  at  it.  Let  somebody  else  have 
that  nine  thousand  dollars  clean  profit  from  the  in- 
vestment of  three,  all  in  a  couple  of  days.  I'm 
afraid  it  would  give  you  the  short-haired  paleness 
to  make  so  much  money  so  suddenly.  Ever  hear  of 
that  disease  ?  The  short-haired  paleness  comes  from 
wearing  horizontal  stripes  in  a  cement  room." 

For  a  moment  young  Oilman  pondered  this  am- 
biguous reply  in  silence,  then  out  of  his  secret  dis- 
tress he  blurted : 

"But,  Wix,  I've  got  to  do  something  that  will 
bring  me  in  some  money!  I've  run  behind  on  my 
wheat  trades.  I've — I've  got  to  do  something!" 

Wix,  in  the  darkness,  made  a  little  startled  move- 
ment, the  involuntary  placing  of  his  finger-tips  be- 
hind his  e.ar ;  then  he  answered  quietly : 

"I  told  you  to  keep  away  from  that  game.  I  tried 
it  myself  and  know  all  about  it." 

"I  know,  but  I  did  it  just  the  same,"  answered 
Gilman. 

Wix  chuckled. 

"Of  course  you  did.  You're  the  woolly  breed 
that  keeps  bucket-shops  going.  I'd  like  no  better 
lazy  life  than  just  to  run  a  bucket-shop  and  fill  all 


28  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

my  buckets  with  the  fleeces  of  about  a  dozen  of 
your  bleating  kind.  It  would  be  easy  money." 

The  front  door  of  the  Gilman  house  opened  a 
little  way,  and  the  voice  of  a  worried  woman  came 
out  into  the  night : 

"Is  that  you,  Cliffy?" 

"Yes,  mother,"  answered  Clifford.  "Good  night, 
old  man.  I  want  to  be  sure  to  see  you  before  I  go 
to  the  bank  in  the  morning.  I  want  to  talk  this  thing 
over  with  you,"  and  young  Gilman  hurried  into  the 

house. 

Wix  looked  after  him  as  he  went  in,  and  stood 
staring  at  the  glowing  second-story  window.  Then 
he  suddenly  went  back  up  to  his  own  porch  and  got 
his  hat.  Fifteen  minutes  later  he  was  at  the  desk  of 
the  Grand  Hotel. 

"Mr.  Daw,"  he  said  to  the  clerk. 

"I  think  Mr.  Daw's  probably  gone  to  bed  by  this 
time,  Wix,"  the  clerk  protested. 

"We'll  wake  him  up,  then.  What's  the  number  of 
his  room?  I'll  do  it  myself." 

The  clerk  grinned. 

"If  he  kicks,  you  know,  Wix,  I  can't  blame  you 
for  it.  I'll  have  to  stand  it  myself." 

"He  won't  kick.    What's  his  room?" 


YOUNG   WIX   TAKES   A   HAND       29 

"Number  one,"  and  again  the  clerk  grinned.  No- 
body ever  point-blank  refused  young  Wix  a  favor. 
There  was  that  in  his  bigness,  and  in  the  very  jollity 
with  which  he  defied  life  and  its  pretended  gravity, 
which  opened  all  doors  to  him.  His  breadth  of 
chest  had  much  to  do  with  it. 

"The  bridal  chamber,  eh?"  he  chuckled.  "In  that 
case,  send  up  a  bottle  of  champagne  and  charge  it 
to  Mr.  Daw's  account.  Yes,  I  know  the  bar's  closed, 
but  you  have  a  key.  Go  dig  it  out  yourself,  Joe, 
and  do  it  in  style." 

Unattended,  Mr.  Wix  made  his  way  to  room  one 
and  pounded  on  the  door.  Mr.  Daw,  encased  in  blue 
pajamas  and  just  on  the  point  of  retiring,  opened 
cautiously,  and  was  quite  crestfallen  when  he  recog- 
nized his  visitor.  Nevertheless,  he  thawed  into 
instant  amiability. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  old  scout,"  he  cried,  and  shak- 
ing hands  with  Wix,  pulled  him  into  the  room.  "I 
felt  as  if  the  old  homestead  was  no  longer  home 
when  I  didn't  find  you  here  to-day.  Sit  down. 
What'll  you  have  to  drink?" 

"Wine,  thanks,"  replied  Wix.  "They're  getting 
it  ready  now.  I  gave  them  your  order  before  I  came 
up." 


3o  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Mr.  Daw  gasped  and  batted  his  eyes,  but  swal- 
lowed quickly  and  had  it  over  with. 

"You  see,"  explained  Wix,  as  they  seated  them- 
selves comfortably.  "I  thought,  since  we  wouldn't 
have  time  for  many  drinks,  that  we  might  just  as 
well  make  it  a  good  one.  I  brought  up  this  time- 
table. There's  a  train  leaves  for  the  East  at  five- 
thirty-seven  this  morning,  and  one  leaves  for  the 
West  at  six-ten.  Which  are  you  going  to  take  ?" 

"Why,  neither  one,"  said  Daw  in  some  surprise. 
"I  have  some  business  here." 

"Yes,"  admitted  Wix  dryly ;  "I  just  saw  Oilman. 
Which  train  are  you  taking?" 

"Neither,  I  said,"  snapped  Daw,  frowning,  "I 
don't  intend  to  leave  here  until  I  finish  my  work." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  Wix  informed  him.  "You're 
going  about  the  time  Oilman  is  washing  his  face  for 
breakfast;  and  you  won't  leave  any  word  for  him." 

"How  do  you  know  so  well?"  retorted  Daw. 
"Look  here,  Mr.  Wix,  this  proposition  I'm  offer- 
ing Oilman  is  a  fair  and  square — " 

"You  say  that  again  and  I'll  bite  you,"  interrupted 
Wix  pleasantly. 

"I've  got  a  pretty  good  left-handed  punch  of  my 
own,"  flared  Daw,  advancing  a  threatening  step. 


YOUNG    WIX    TAKES    A    HAND       31' 

Wix,  though  much  the  larger  man,  betrayed  his 
touch  of  physical  cowardice  by  a  fleeting  shade  of 
pallor,  and  moved  over  next  the  door.  The  Grand 
Hotel  had  not  installed  a  room  telephone  service, 
still  relying  upon  the  convenient  push-button.  To 
this,  Wix,  affecting  to  treat  the  entire  incident  as 
a  joke,  called  attention. 

"One  ring,  ice  water,"  he  read  from  the  printed 
card  above  it;  "two  rings,  bell  boy;  three  rings, 
maid.  I  think  about  six  rings  will  bring  the 
clerk,  the  porter  and  the  fire  department,"  he  ob- 
served; "but  I  don't  see  where  we  need  them  in  a 
quiet  little  business  talk  like  ours." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  said  Daw  in  the  sudden  flood  of  a 
great  white  light,  and  he  smiled  most  amiably.  "I 
promised  you  a  rake-off  when  I  spoke  about  this 
on  the  train,  didn't  I  ?  And,  of  course,  I'm  willing 
to  stick  with  it.  If  I  pull  this  across  there's  a  thou- 
sand in  it  for  you." 

"No.    It  won't  do,"  said  Wix,  shaking  his  head. 

"Say  fifteen  hundred,  then." 

Once  more  Wix  shook  his  head.  He,  also,  smiled 
most  amiably. 

"I  guess  you  want  it  all?"  charged  Daw  with  a, 
sneer. 


32  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Possibly,"  admitted  Wix,  then  suddenly  he 
chuckled  so  that  his  big  shoulders  heaved.  'To  tell 
you  the  truth,"  he  stated,  "I  didn't  know  Oilman 
could  put  up  so  big  a  prize  as  all  that  nice  money, 
or  he  wouldn't  have  had  it  loose  to  offer  you  by  now. 
As  soon  as  I  get  over  the  shock  I'll  know  what  to 
do  about  it.  Just  now,  all  I  know  is  that  he's  not 
going  into  this  real  silky  little  joke  of  yours.  I 
don't  want  to  see  the  money  go  out  of  town." 

"I  saw  it  first,"  Daw  reminded  him.  "I  don't 
care  where  he  gets  it,  you  know,  just  so  I  get  it." 

"Wherever  he  gets  it,"  said  Wix  impressively,  "it 
will  be  secured  in  a  perfectly  legitimate  manner.  I 
want  you  to  understand  that  much." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  understood  that,  anyhow,"  acknowl- 
edged Daw,  and  the  two  young  men  looked  quite 
steadily  into  each  other's  eyes,  each  knowing  what 
the  other  thought,  but  refusing  to  admit  it. 

It  was  Daw  who  first  broke  the  ensuing  silence. 

"Suppose  I  can't  decide  to  wing  my  onward 
way  ?"  he  suggested. 

"Then  I'll  have  you  looking  out  on  court-house 
square  through  the  big  grill." 

"On  what  charge?" 

"General  principles,"  chuckled  Wix. 


YOUNG   WIX   TAKES    A   HAND       33 

"I  suppose  there's  a  heavy  stretch  for  that  if  they 
prove  it  on  me,"  returned  Daw  thoughtfully.  There 
was  no  levity  whatever  in  the  reply.  He  had  read 
the  eyes  of  Wix  correctly.  Wix  would  have  him 
arrested  as  sure  as  breakfast,  dinner  and  supper. 

"Just  general  principles,"  repeated  Wix;  "to  be 
followed  by  a  general  investigation.  Can  you  stand 
it?" 

"I  should  say  I  can,"  asserted  Daw.  "What  time 
did  you  say  that  train  leaves  ?  The  one  going  east, 
I  mean." 

"Five-thirty-seven." 

"Then,  if  you  don't  mind,  you  may  leave  me  a 
call  for  five  o'clock;"  and  Mr.  Daw  nonchalantly 
yawned. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"I'm  sorry  you  have  to  leave  us  so  soon,  Mr. 
Daw,"  said  Wix,  admitting  the  clerk  with  the  wine, 
and  speaking  with  much  regret  in  his  tone. 

"I'll  clink  glasses  with  you,  anyhow,  old  sport," 
offered  Daw,  accepting  the  inevitable  gracefully, 
after  the  clerk  had  gone.  "I  don't  know  what  your 
game  is,  but  here's  to  it !  Always  remember,  though, 
that  I  located  this  three  thousand  for  you.  I  hate 
to  leave  it  here.  It  was  such  easy  money." 


34  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Easy  money!"  Again  that  phrase  rang  in  the 
ears  of  young  Wix,  as  he  walked  home,  as  he  stood 
at  his  gate  looking  over  at  the  second-story  window 
of  the  Oilman  house,  and  as  he  lay  upon  his  pillow. 
To  dwell  in  perpetual  ease,  to  be  surrounded  with 
endless  luxury,  to  spend  money  prodigally  in  all 
the  glitter  and  pomp  of  the  places  that  had  been  built 
at  the  demand  of  extravagance:  these  things  had 
become  an  obsession  with  him — yet,  for  them,  he 
was  not  willing  to  work  and  wait. 

Gilman  felt  that  he  had  lost  vast  estates,  when, 
upon  calling  at  the  hotel  in  the  morning,  he  found 
that  Mr.  Daw  had  left  upon  an  early  train.  He  was 
worried,  too,  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  see  Wix 
before  he  started  down-town.  Most  opportunely, 
however,  Wix  sauntered  out  of  Sam  Glidden's  cigar 
store,  opposite  the  hotel,  as  Gilman  emerged  upon 
the  street. 

"When's  the  funeral?"  asked  Wix.  "You  look 
like  a  sick-headache  feels." 

"Daw  has  gone,  and  without  leaving  me  any 
word,"  quavered  Gilman.  "I  suppose  he'll— he'll 
probably  write  to  me,  though." 

"I'm  betting  that  he  has  writer's  cramp  every  time 
he  tries  it,"  asserted  Wix. 


YOUNG    WIX    TAKES    A    HAND       35 

"But  I  signed  an  agreement  with  him  last  night. 
He  must  write." 

"Does  this  look  anything  like  that  agreement," 
asked  Wix,  and  from  his  pocket  drew  the  document, 
torn  once  across  each  way.  Gilman  gazed  at  the 
pieces  blankly.  "I  got  it  away  from  him,  and  tore 
it  up  myself,  last  night,"  continued  Wix.  "Also, 
I  ran  the  gentleman  out  of  town  on  the  five-thirty- 
seven  this  morning,  headed  due  east  and  still  going." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  gasped  Gilman.  "Why, 
man,  you've  taken  away  the  only  chance  I  had  to  get 
even.  I  have  to  make  money,  I  tell  you !" 

"Be  calm,  little  Cliffy,"  admonished  Wix  sooth- 
ingly. "I'm  going  to  get  it  its  money.  Look  here, 
Gilman,  this  man  was  a  fake  and  I  made  him  say  so, 
but  his  coming  here  gave  me  an  idea.  I'm  going  to 
open  a  bucket-shop,  and  you're  going  to  back  it." 

"Not  a  bucket-shop!"  objected  Gilman,  aghast 
at  the  very  name. 

"Yes,  a  bucket-shop.  Do  you  know  how  they 
operate?  Of  course  not,  merely  having  played 
against  them.  Well,  suppose  you  gamble  a  thousand 
bushels  of  wheat  on  a  two-cent  margin,  holding  for 
a  two-cent  advance.  What  happens  to  your  twenty 
dollars?  The  bucket  expert  takes  out  his  buying 


36  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

commission  of  one-fourth  cent  a  bushel.  A  straight 
broker  takes  off  one-eighth  cent,  but  your  man 
milks  you  for  a  nifty  little  total  of  two  dollars  and  a 
half,  because  you're  a  piker.  If  wheat  goes  down 
one  and  three- fourths  cents  you  lose  the  other  seven- 
teen-fifty,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  admitted  Oilman. 

"If  it  goes  up  two  cents  the  man  closes  the  deal 
and  takes  out  another  one-fourth  cent  a  bushel 
for  closing.  That's  another  two-fifty.  You  get 
back  thirty-five  dollars.  Your  bucket-shop  man  is 
practically  betting  fifteen  dollars  of  his  money 
against  twenty  of  yours  on  worse  than  an  even 
break.  Pretty  good  game  for  the  bucket-shop  man, 
isn't  it?  But  there's  more.  He  doesn't  take  as  much 
risk  as  matching  pennies  on  a  three-to-four  shot. 
Suppose  he  has  one  man  betting  that  wheat  will  go 
up  and  another  that  it  will  go  down.  Each  man 
puts  up  twenty,  and  one  must  lose.  The  man  with 
the  bucket  runs  no  chances,  and  every  time  he  takes 
in  forty  dollars  he  pays  out  only  thirty-five  of  it. 
Twelve  and  one-half  per  cent,  of  all  the  money  that 
passes  through  his  hands  stays  there.  Moreover,  the 
winner  puts  his  right  back  into  the  game,  and  the 
loser  rakes  up  more,  to  win  back  what  he  lost.  Pretty 


YOUNG   WIX   TAKES   A   HAND       37 

syrupy,  eh  ?  The  only  trouble  with  you  is  that  you 
have  been  playing  this  game  from  the  wrong  end. 
Now,  you're  going  to  play  it  from  the  inside.  I'm 
going  to  rent  an  office  to-day.  You're  to  back  me  to 
the  extent  of  three  thousand  dollars,  and  we'll  split 
the  profits." 

Oilman's  eyes  glistened.  He  was  one  who  did  his 
thinking  by  proxy,  and  reflected  enthusiasm  with 
vast  ease. 

"Do  you  suppose  it  would  take  the  three  thousand 
all  at  once?"  he  asked  with  some  anxiety. 

"No,  we  won't  need  it  in  a  lump,"  Wix  decided, 
after  some  sharp  thought  over  Oilman's  nervous- 
ness; "but  it  must  be  where  we  can  get  all  or  any 
part  of  it  at  a  minute's  notice." 

Oilman  drew  such  an  obvious  breath  of  relief  that 
Wix  became  once  more  thoughtful;  but  it  was  a 
thoughtfulness  that  brought  with  it  only  hardening 
of  the  jaw  and  steeling  of  the  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHICH   SHOWS  THE  EASIEST   WAY  TO   MAKE  A 
BUCKET-SHOP  PAY 

WITHIN  three  days,  Wix,  who  was  a  curi- 
ous blend  of  laziness  and  energy,  had 
fitted  up  an  office  in  a  sample-room  leading  off  the 
lobby  of  the  Grand  Hotel.  Over  the  name  on  the 
door  he  puzzled  somewhat,  and  it  was  only  his 
hatred  for  every  component  syllable  of  "Jonathan 
Reuben  Wix"  that  caused  the  sign  finally  to  appear 
as  "La  Salle  Grain  and  Stock  Brokerage  Company." 
The  walls  were  freshly  papered  in  deep  red,  a  thick, 
red  carpet  was  put  upon  the  floor,  a  resplendent 
cashier's  wicket  and  desk  were  installed,  fine  leather- 
padded  chairs  faced  a  neatly  ruled  blackboard ;  and 
the  speculative  element  of  Filmore  walked  right  into 
its  first  real  bucket-shop  and  made  itself  at  home. 
It  was  a  positive  pleasure  to  lose  money  there,  and 
it  was  a  joy  to  have  young  Wix  take  it.  He  did  it 
so  jovially. 

38 


THE   EASIEST    WAY  39 

Punctually  every  evening  Wix  handed  to  Oilman 
his  half  of  the  profits  on  the  trades  closed  that  day, 
and  each  week  the  profits  became  larger.  Oilman 
was  thrown  into  a  constant  state  of  delight;  Wix 
bought  him  a  horse  and  buggy.  Gilman  saw  fortune 
just  ahead  of  him;  Wix  saw  possible  disaster.  It 
pained  him  to  note  that  Filmore  was  optimistic. 
There  were  many  more  bulls  than  bears,  which  was 
not  the  ideal  condition.  There  should  have  been  a 
bear  to  offset  every  bull,  in  which  case  the  La  Salle 
Grain  and  Stock  Brokerage  Company  would  have 
run  no  risk  whatever. 

Of  course,  the  inevitable  happened.  All  the  wheat 
and  stock  gamblers  of  Filmore  got  in  on  a  strong 
bull  market  and  stayed  in.  When  the  market  finally 
turned  back  and  the  "longs"  were  frightened  out, 
the  crash  came,  and  every  dollar  was  lost  of  the 
original  three  thousand.  Wix,  having  anticipated 
the  possibility  of  such  an  event,  was  disappointed 
but  "game."  Gilman,  having  more  at  stake  and  be- 
ing at  best  a  cheerful  winner  only,  was  frantic. 

"What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?"  he  moaned, 
over  and  over. 

"Dig  up  more  money,"  Wix  cheerfully  advised 
him. 


40  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"I  can't!"  cried  Oilman.  "I've  gone  now  even 
deeper  than  I  dared."  He  was  silent  for  a  long  time. 
Great  beads  of  perspiration  came  on  his  brow.  His 
hair  was  wet.  "Wix,"  he  finally  burst  out,  "I've  got 
to  tell  you  something ;  something  that  no  living  crea- 
ture knows  but  me." 

"No,  you  don't!"  Wix  sharply  stopped  him.  "If 
you  have  any  secrets,  keep  them  to  yourself.  I  am 
stone  deaf." 

Gilman's  eyes  widened  with  a  look  of  positive  ter- 
ror. For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  met  that 
glare  in  the  eyes  of  a  supposed  friend  which  denied 
friendship,  sentiment  or  emotion  of  any  sort;  which 
told  only  of  cold  self-interest.  Two  or  three  times 
he  essayed  to  speak,  but  he  could  not.  He  only  stood 
with  his  sides  heaving,  like  a  spent  dog. 

"There  is  no  use  whining  about  this  thing,"  Wix 
went  on  sharply.  "We've  got  to  raise  money,  and 
that's  all  there  is  to  it.  How  about  your  profits  that 
I've  been  handing  you?  I've  spent  mine." 

There  was  no  answer. 

"You  said  something  about  owing  four  hundred 
dollars  before  we  began,"  Wix  went  on.  "I  suppose 
you  repaid  that — that  loan." 

Gilman  dumbly  nodded. 


THE    EASIEST    WAY  41 

"I've  paid  you  over  a  thousand  dollars  rake-off. 
I  suppose  you  saved  the  rest  of  it?" 

Again  Gilman  nodded  his  head. 

"Well,  bring  me  that  six  hundred  or  whatever  it 
is." 

Gilman  mechanically  produced  it,  all  in  one-hun- 
dred-dollar bills  folded  very  flat. 

That  morning  Wix  faced  the  business  anew  with 
six  hundred  dollars,  and  felt  keenly  his  limited  capi- 
tal. His  severe  losses  had  been  a  good  advertise- 
ment, and  every  man  who  had  won  a  dollar  was 
prepared  to  put  it  back.  Wix,  with  a  steady  hand  at 
the  helm,  stood  through  this  crisis  most  admirably, 
refusing  trades  from  buyers  until  he  had  sellers 
enough  to  offset  them,  and  refusing  excess  trades 
from  sellers  until  he  had  buyers  to  balance.  Within 
two  weeks  he  had  a  comfortable  little  sum,  but  now 
the  daily  division  of  spoils  brought  no  balm  to  Gil- 
man. He  was  suddenly  old,  and  upon  his  face  were 
appearing  lines  that  would  last  him  throughout  his 
life.  Upon  the  florid  countenance  of  Wix  there  was 
not  even  the  shadow  of  a  crease. 

"Good  money,  boy,"  said  he  to  Gilman,  upon  the 
day  he  handed  over  the  completion  of  five  hundred 
dollars.  "This  business  is  like  a  poker  game.  If  the 


42  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

players  stick  at  it  long  enough  the  kitty  will  have 
all  the  money." 

"I  don't  want  it  all,"  replied  Gilman  wearily. 
"Wix,  if  I  ever  get  back  the  twenty- five  hundred 
dollars  that  it  will  take  to  make  me  square,  I  swear 
before  my  Maker,"  and  he  held  up  his  trembling, 
white  hand,  "never  to  touch  another  investment  out- 
side the  bank  as  long  as  I  live." 

"Your  liver  must  be  the  color  of  a  sick  salmon," 
retorted  Wix,  but  nevertheless  he  was  himself  dis- 
illusioned. The  bucket-shop  business  was  not  what 
he  had  imagined  it  to  be.  It  was  not  "easy  money !" 
It  had  fluctuations,  must  be  constantly  watched,  was 
susceptible  to  bankruptcy — and  meant  work!  The 
ideal  enterprise  was  one  which,  starting  from  noth- 
ing, involved  no  possible  loss ;  which  yielded  a  large 
block  of  cold  cash  within  a  short  time,  and  which 
was  then  ended.  Daw's  idea  was  the  most  ideal  that 
had  come  under  his  observation.  That  was  really  an 
admirable  scheme  of  Daw's,  except  for  one  very  seri- 
ous drawback.  It  was  dangerous.  Now,  if  as  clever 
a  plan,  and  one  without  any  menace  from  the  law, 
could  only  be  hinged  upon  some  more  legitimate 
business — say  a  bucket-shop  concern.  .  .  . 

There  is  no  analyzing  a  creation,  an  invention. 


THE   EASIEST    WAY  43 

It  is  not  deliberately  worked  out,  step  by  step.  It 
is  a  flash  of  genius.  At  this  moment  young  Wix 
created.  The  principle  he  evolved  was,  in  fact,  to 
stand  him  in  good  stead  in  a  score  of  "safe"  opera- 
tions, but,  just  now,  it  was  a  gaudy  new  thing,  and 
its  beauty  almost  blinded  him.  The  same  idea  had 
been  used  by  many  men  before  him,  but  Wix  did 
not  know  this,  and  he  created  it  anew. 

"Sam,"  he  said  to  the  cigar-store  man  next  morn- 
ing, "I  want  you  to  invest  in  The  La  Salle  Grain  and 
Stock  Brokerage  Company." 

"Not  any,"  declared  Sam.  "You  have  two  hun- 
dred of  my  money  now." 

"Not  the  entire  roll,"  denied  Wix.  "I  only  got 
twelve  and  one-half  per  cent." 

"If  you'd  take  twelve  and  a  half  per  cent,  eight 
times  you'd  have  it  all,"  retorted  Sam.  "That's  why 
I  quit.  I  stood  to  lose  two  hundred  dollars  on  a 
seven-point  drop,  or  win  a  hundred  and  seventy-five 
on  an  eight-point  raise.  When  I  finally  figured  out 
that  I  had  the  tweezers  into  my  hair  going  and  com- 
ing, I  didn't  wish  any  more." 

"But  suppose  I'd  offer  you  a  chance  to  stand  on1 
the  other  side  of  the  counter  and  take  part  of  the 
change?" 


44  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"I'd  let  you  stand  right  here  and  talk  a  while. 
What's  the  matter  ?" 

"Haven't  capital  enough,"  explained  Wix.  "I 
think  I  refused  to  take  a  trade  of  yours  one  time, 
just  because  I  had  to  play  safe.  I  had  to  be  in  posi- 
tion to  pay  off  all  my  losses  or  quit  business." 

"How  much  are  you  increasing?"  asked  Glidden, 
interested. 

"A  twenty-five-thousand-dollar  stock  company: 
two  hundred  and  fifty  shares  at  a  hundred  dollars 
each." 

"I  might  take  a  share  or  two,"  said  Sam. 

"You'll  take  twenty,"  declared  Wix,  quite  sure  of 
himself.  "I  want  four  incorporators  besides  myself, 
and  I  want  you  to  be  one  of  them." 

"Is  that  getting  me  the  stock  any  cheaper  ?" 

"Fifty  per  cent. ;  two  thousand  dollars'  worth  for 
a  thousand.  After  we  five  incorporators  are  in  we'll 
raise  the  price  to  par  and  not  sell  a  share  for  a  cent 
less." 

"How  much  do  you  get  out  of  this?"  Sam  asked, 
with  a  leer  of  understanding. 

"Ten  per  cent,  for  selling  the  stock,  and  have  the 
new  company  buy  over  the  present  one  for  ten  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  of  shares." 


"Sam,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  invest' 


THE    EASIEST    WAY  45 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Glidden  with  a  grin.  "Fix- 
tures, established  business  and  good  will,  I  sup- 
pose." 

Wix  chuckled. 

"You  put  it  in  the  loveliest  words,"  he  admitted. 

"You're  a  bright  young  man,"  said  Glidden  ad- 
miringly. "You'd  better  pay  for  those  fixtures  and 
put  in  the  whole  business  at  five  hundred." 

"What  do  you  suppose  I'm  enlarging  the  thing 
for,  except  to  increase  my  income  ?"  Wix  demanded. 
/'With  ten  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock  I'd  get 
only  two-fifths  of  the  profit,  when  I've  been  getting 
it  all  heretofore.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  doing 
pretty  well  not  to  try  to  capture  the  majority." 

They  both  laughed  upon  this,  and  Glidden  capitu- 
lated. .Within  forty-eight  hours  Wix  had  his  four 
directors,  all  ex-traders  who  would  rather  make 
money  than  gamble,  and  each  willing  to  put  in  a 
thousand  dollars.  As  soon  as  they  were  incorporated 
they  paid  Wix  his  hundred  shares  for  the  old  busi- 
ness, and  that  developing  financier  started  out  to 
sell  the  balance  of  the  stock,  on  commission. 

It  was  an  easy  task,  for  his  fellow-directors  did 
all  the  advertising  for  him.  Practically  all  he  had 
to  do  was  to  deliver  the  certificates  and  collect.  It 


46  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

was  while  he  was  engaged  in  this  pleasant  occupa- 
tion that  he  went  to  Oilman  with  a  blank  certificate 
for  twenty-five  shares. 

"I  think  you  said,  Oilman,  that  if  you  could  get 
your  remaining  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  out  of 
the  La  Salle  you'd  be  satisfied,  didn't  you?" 

"Satisfied !"  gasped  Oilman.  "Just  show  me  how 
it  can  be  done!" 

"Here's  twenty-five  hundred  dollars'  worth  of 
stock  in  the  new  company  I've  incorporated  from 
the  old  one,  and  it's  selling — at  par — like  beer  at  a 
German  picnic." 

"That  would  ruin  me,"  Gilman  protested  in  a 
panic.  "You  must  sell  it  for  me  or  I'm  gone.  Why, 
Wix,  this  new  state  bank  inspection  law  has  just 
gone  into  effect,  and  there  may  be  an  inspector  at 
the  bank  any  day." 

"I  see,"  said  Wix  slowly,  looking  him  straight  in 
the  eye,  "and  they  may  object  to  Smalley's  having 
loaned  you  that  money  on  insufficient  security. 
Well,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

Nevertheless,  he  let  Oilman's  stock  lie  while  he 
sold  the  treasury  shares,  and,  the  market  being  still 
so  eager  that  it  seemed  a  shame  not  to  supply  it,  he 
sold  his  own! 


THE    EASIEST    WAY  47 

There  was  now  time  for  Gilman,  and  Wix,  with 
an  artistic  eye  for  dramatic  propinquities,  presented 
his  proposition  to  no  less  a  person  than  Smalley, 
grinning,  however,  as  he  went  in. 

"I  couldn't  think  of  such  a  thing,  sir,"  squeaked 
that  gentleman.  "I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  gam- 
bling in  any  way,  shape  or  form." 

"No,"  agreed  Wix,  and  carefully  closed  the  door 
of  Smalley's  private  office.  "Well,  this  isn't  gam- 
bling, Mr.  Smalley.  It's  only  the  people  outside  who 
gamble.  The  La  Salle  doesn't  propose  to  take  any 
chances;  it  only  takes  commissions,"  and  he  showed 
to  Mr.  Smalley,  very  frankly,  a  record  of  his  trans- 
actions, including  the  one  disastrous  period  for  the 
purpose  of  pointing  out  the  flaw  which  had  brought 
it  about. 

Smalley  inspected  those  figures  long  and  ear- 
nestly, while  Wix  sat  back  smiling.  He  had  pene- 
trated through  that  leathery  exterior,  had  discov- 
ered what  no  one  else  would  have  suspected:  that 
in  Smalley  himself  there  ran  a  long-leashed  gam- 
bling instinct. 

"But  I  couldn't  possibly  have  my  name  connected 
with  a  matter  of  this  sort,"  was  Smalley's  last  cita- 
del of  objection. 


48  YOUNG  WALLINGFORD 

"Why  should  you?"  agreed  Wix,  and  then  a 
diabolical  thought  came  to  him,  in  the  guise  of  an 
exquisite  joke.  He  had  great  difficulty  in  repressing 
a  chuckle  as  he  suggested  it.  "Why  not  put  the 
stock  in  Gilman's  name?" 

"It  might  be  a  very  bad  influence  for  the  young 
man,"  protested  Smalley  virtuously,  but  clutching 
at  the  suggestion.  "He  is  thoroughly  trustworthy, 
however,  and  I  suppose  I  can  explain  it  to  him  as 
being  a  really  conservative  investment  that  should 
have  no  publicity.  I  think  you  said,  Mr.  Wix,  that 
there  are  only  twenty-five  shares  remaining  to  be 
sold." 

"That's  all,"  Wix  assured  him.  "You  couldn't 
secure  another  share  if  you  wanted  it." 

"Very  well,  then,  I  think  I  shall  take  it." 

"I  have  the  certificate  in  my  pocket,"  said  Wix, 
and  he  produced  the  identical  certificate  that  he  had 
offered  Gilman  some  days  before.  It  had  already 
been  signed  by  the  complacent  Sam  Glidden  as  sec- 
retary. "Make  this  out  to  Gilman,  shall  I?"  asked 
Wix,  seating  himself  at  Smalley's  desk,  and  poising 
his  pen  above  the  certificate. 

"I  believe  so,"  assented  Smalley,  pursing  up  his 
lips. 


THE   EASIEST    WAY  49 

With  a  smile  all  of  careless  pleasure  with  the 
world,  Wix  wrote  the  name  of  Clifford  M.  Oilman, 
and  signed  the  certificate  as  president. 

"Now,  your  check,  Mr.  Smalley,  for  twenty-five 
hundred,  and  the  new  La  Salle  Company  is  com- 
pletely filled  up,  ready  to  start  in  business  on  a 
brand-new  basis." 

With  his  lips  still  pursed,  Smalley  made  out  that 
check,  and  Wix  shook  hands  with  him  most  cor- 
dially as  he  left  the  room.  Outside  the  door  he 
chuckled.  He  was  still  smiling  when  he  walked  up 
to  the  cashier's  wicket,  where  young  Oilman  sat 
tense  and  white-faced.  Wix  indorsed  the  check,  and 
handed  it  through  the  wicket. 

"Here's  your  twenty-five  hundred,  Cliff,"  said  he. 
"You  can  turn  it  over  on  the  books  of  the  bank  as 
soon  as  you  like." 

Oilman  strove  to  voice  his  great  relief,  but  his  lips 
quivered  and  his  eyes  filled,  and  he  could  only 
turn  away  speechless.  Wix  had  gone  out,  and  Gil- 
man  was  still  holding  in  his  nerveless  fingers  the 
check  that  had  saved  him,  when  Smalley  appeared 
at  his  side. 

"Ah,"  said  Smalley;  "I  see  you  have  the  check  I 
gave  Mr.  Wix.  Did  he  deposit?" 


5o  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Oilman,  in  a  low  voice;  "he 
took  currency." 

Mr.  Smalley  visibly  winced. 

"A  bill  of  exchange  might  have  done  him  just  as 
well,"  he  protested.  "No  non-employing  person  has 
need  of  actual  currency  in  that  amount.  I'm  afraid 
young  Wix  is  very  extravagant — very.  By  the  way, 
Mr.  Oilman,  I  have  been  forced,  for  protection  and 
very  much  against  my  will,  to  take  some  stock  in  an 
enterprise  with  which  I  can  not  have  my  name  as- 
sociated for  very  obvious  business  reasons;  so  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  of  having  the  stock  made  out 
in  your  name,"  and,  before  young  Oilman's  eyes, 
he  spread  his  twenty-five-share  certificate  of  The 
La  Salle  Grain  and  Stock  Brokerage  Company. 

Oilman,  pale  before,  went  suddenly  ghastly.  The 
blow  of  mockery  had  come  too  soon  upon  the  heels 
of  his  relief. 

"I  can't  have  it,"  he  managed  to  stammer  through 
parched  lips.  "I  must  refuse,  sir.  I — I  can  not  be 
connected  in  any  way  with  that  business,  Mr.  Smal- 
ley. I — I  abhor  it.  Never,  as  long  as  I  live — " 

Suddenly  the  fish-white  face  and  staring  eyes  of 
Oilman  were  not  in  the  line  of  Mr.  Smalley 's  aston- 
ished vision,  for  Oilman  had  slid  to  the  floor,  be- 


THE    EASIEST    WAY  51 

tween  his  high  stool  and  his  desk.  Sam  Glidden, 
coming  into  the  bank  a  moment  after,  found  Smal- 
ley  working  feverishly  over  the  prostrate  form  of 
his  feebly  reviving  clerk. 


CHAPTER  V 

JONATHAN   REUBEN   WIX    CASTS   ASIDE   HIS  ONLY 
HANDICAP  AND  DISAPPEARS  FOR  EVER 

JUST  as  Jonathan  Reuben  Wix  reached  his 
home,  a  delivery  man  was  taking  in  at  the  front 
door  a  fine  dresser  trunk.  On  the  porch  stood  a  new 
alligator  traveling-bag,  and  a  big,  new  suit-case  of 
thick  sole  leather,  trimmed  profusely  with  the  most 
expensive  knobs  and  clamps,  and  containing  as  elab- 
orate a  toilet  set  as  is  made  for  the  use  of  men.  In 
the  hall  he  found  five  big  pasteboard  boxes  from  his 
tailor.  He  had  the  trunk  and  the  suit-case  and  the 
traveling-bag  delivered  up  to  his  room ;  the  clothing 
he  carried  up  himself. 

That  morning  he  had  dressed  himself  in  new 
linen  throughout.  Now  he  took  off  the  suit  he  wore 
and  put  on  one  of  the  new  business  suits.  He  opened 
half  a  dozen  huge  bundles  of  haberdashery  which 
he  had  purchased  within  the  past  week,  and  began 
packing  them  in  his  trunk :  underwear,  shirts,  socks, 
52 


WIX   DISAPPEARS   FOR   EVER       53 

collars,  cravats,  everything  brand  new  and  of  the 
choicest  quality.  He  packed  away  the  other  new 
business  suit,  the  Prince  Albert,  the  tuxedo,  the 
dress  suit — the  largest  individual  order  his  tailor 
had  ever  received — putting  into  his  trunk  and  suit- 
case and  traveling-bag  not  one  thing  that  he  had 
ever  worn  before;  nor  did  he  put  into  any  of  his 
luggage  a  single  book  or  keepsake,  for  these  things 
had  no  meaning  to  him.  When  he  was  completely 
dressed  and  packed  he  went  to  his  mother's  room 
and  knocked  on  the  door.  It  was  her  afternoon  for 
the  Women  Journalists'  Club,  and  she  was  very  busy 
indeed  over  a  paper  she  was  to  read  on  The  Press: 
Its  Power  for  Evil.  Naturally,  interruptions  an- 
noyed her  very  much. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  son?"  she  asked  in  her  level, 
even  tone  as  he  came  into  the  room.  Her  impatience 
was  very  nicely  suppressed,  indeed. 

"I'm  going  to  New  York  on  the  six-thirty,"  he 
told  her. 

"Really,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  spare  any  money 
until  the  fifteenth,"  she  objected. 

"I  have  plenty  of  money,"  he  assured  her. 

"Oh,"  she  replied  with  evident  relief,  and  glanced 
longingly  back  at  her  neatly  written  paper. 


54  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"I  can  even  let  you  have  some  if  you  want  it,"  he 
suggested. 

"No,  thank  you.  I  have  sufficient,  I  am  sure,  por- 
tioned out  to  meet  all  demands,  including  the  usual 
small  surplus,  up  to  the  fifteenth.  It's  very  nice  of 
you  to  offer  it,  however." 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, "I'm  not  coming  back." 

She  turned  now,  and  faced  him  squarely  for  the 
first  time. 

"You'd  better  stay  here,"  she  told  him.  "I'm 
afraid  you'll  cost  me  more  away  from  home  than 
you  do  in  Filmore." 

"I  shall  never  cost  you  a  cent,"  he  declared.  "I 
have  found  out  how  to  make  money." 

She  smiled  in  a  superior  way. 

"I  am  a  bit  incredulous ;  but,  after  all,  I  don't  see 
why  you  shouldn't.  Your  father  at  least  had  that 
quality,  and  you  should  have  inherited  something 
from  him  besides" — and  she  paused  a  trifle — "his 
name."  She  sighed,  and  then  continued:  "Very 
well,  son,  I  suppose  you  must  carve  out  your  own 
destiny.  You  are  quite  old  enough  to  make  the  at- 
tempt, and  I  have  been  anticipating  it  for  some  time. 
After  all,  you  really  ought  to  have  very  little  troy- 


WIX   DISAPPEARS   FOR   EVER       55 

ble  in  impressing  the  world  favorably.  You  dress 
neatly,"  she  surveyed  him  critically,  "and  you  make 
friends  readily.  Shall  I  see  you  again  before  you 
go?" 

"I  scarcely  think  so.  I  have  a  little  down-town 
business  to  look  after,  and  shall  take  dinner  on  the 
train ;  so  I'll  just  say  good-by  to  you  now." 

He  shook  hands  with  her  and  stooped  down,  and 
they  kissed  each  other  dutifully  upon  the  cheek. 
Mrs.  Wix,  being  advanced,  did  not  believe  in  kiss- 
ing upon  the  mouth.  After  he  had  gone,  a  fleeting 
impression  of  loneliness  weighed  upon  her  as  much 
as  any  purely  sentimental  consideration  could  weigh. 
She  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  closed  door,  and 
a  stirring  of  the  slight  maternal  instinct  within 
her  made  her  vaguely  wistful.  She  turned,  still  with 
that  faint  tugging  within  her  breast  which  she  could 
not  understand,  and  it  was  purely  mechanical  that 
her  eyes,  dropping  to  the  surface  of  the  paper, 
caught  the  sentence:  "Mental  suggestion,  unfit  for 
growing  minds,  is  upon  every  page."  The  word 
"Mental"  seemed  redundant,  and  she  drew  her  pen 
through  it,  neatly  changing  the  "s"  in  "suggestion" 
to  a  capital. 

A  cab  drove  past  Wix  as  he  started  down  the 


56  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

street  and  he  saw  Smalley  in  it.  He  turned  curi- 
ously. What  was  Smalley  doing  there  ?  He  stopped 
until  he  saw  the  cab  draw  up  in  front  of  Oilman's 
house.  He  saw  Smalley  assist  young  Oilman  out  of 
the  cab,  and  Oilman's  mother  run  out  to  meet  them. 
He  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment  over  that,  then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  strode  on. 

On  the  train  that  night  as  he  swaggered  into  the 
dining-car,  owning  it,  in  effect,  and  all  it  contained, 
he  saw,  seated  alone  at  a  far  table,  no  less  a  person 
than  Horace  G.  Daw,  as  black  and  as  natty  as  ever, 
and  with  a  mustache  grown  long  enough  to  curl  a 
little  bit  at  the  ends. 

"Hello,  old  pal,"  greeted  Daw.  "Where  now?" 

"I'm  going  out  alone  into  the  cold,  cold  world, 
to  make  fortunes  and  spend  them." 

"Half  of  that  stunt  is  a  good  game,"  commented 
Mr.  Daw. 

Wix  chuckled. 

"Both  ends  of  it  look  good  to  me,"  he  stated. 
"I've  found  the  recipe  for  doing  it,  and  it  was  you 
that  tipped  off  the  plan." 

"I  certainly  am  the  grand  little  tipper-off,"  agreed 
Daw,  going  back  in  memory  over  their  last  meeting. 
"You  got  to  that  three  thousand,  did  you  ?" 


WIX   DISAPPEARS    FOR   EVER       57 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Wix.  "I  only  used  it  to  get  a  little 
more.  Our  friend  Oilman  has  his  all  back  again. 
Of  course,  I  didn't  use  your  plan  as  it  laid.  It  was 
too  raw,  but  it  gave  me  the  suggestion  from  which 
I  doped  out  one  of  my  own.  I've  got  to  improve 
my  system  a  little,  though.  My  rake-off's  too  small. 
In  the  wind-up  I  handled  twenty-one  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  only  got  away  with  eight  thousand-odd  of 
it  for  myself." 

"You  haven't  it  all  with  you?"  asked  Daw,  a 
shade  too  eagerly. 

Wix  chuckled,  his  broad  shoulders  heaving  and 
his  pink  face  rippling. 

"No  use,  kind  friend,"  said  he.  "Just  dismiss  it 
from  your  active  but  greedy  mind.  If  anybody  gets 
away  unduly  with  a  cent  of  this  wad,  all  they  need 
to  do  is  to  prove  it  to  me,  and  I'll  make  them  a  pres- 
ent of  the  balance.  No,  my  dark-complected  brother, 
the  bulk  of  it  is  in  a  safe  place  in  little  old  New 
York,  where  I  can  go  get  it  as  I  need  it ;  but  I  have 
enough  along  to  buy,  I  think.  It  seems  to  me  you 
bought  last,"  and  they  both  grinned  at  the  remi- 
niscence. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  trying  to  annex  any  of  that 
coin,"  lied  Mr.  Daw  glibly,  and  changing  entirely 


58  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

his  attitude  toward  Mr.  Wix  as  his  admiration 
grew;  "but  I  was  thinking  that  we  might  cook  up 
something  together.  I'll  put  up  dollar  for  dollar 
with  you.  I've  just  been  harvesting,  myself." 

Again  Wix  chuckled. 

"Declined  with  thanks,"  he  returned.  "I  don't 
mind  trailing  around  a  bit  with  you  when  we  get  to 
New  York,  and  also  meeting  the  carefully  assorted 
selection  of  dead-sure-thing  geniuses  who  must  be- 
long to  your  set,  but  I'll  go  no  further.  For  one 
thing,  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  a  partner.  It  cramps 
me  to  split  up.  For  another  thing,  I  wouldn't  like 
to  hook  up  in  business  with  you.  You're  not  safe 
enough ;  you  trifle  too  much  with  the  law,  which  is 
not  only  foolish  but  unnecessary." 

"Yes?"  retorted  Daw.  "How  about  this  eight 
thousand  or  so  that  you  committed  mayhem  on  Fil- 
more  to  get  ?" 

"Good,  honest  money,"  asserted  Wix.  "I  hate  to 
boast  about  your  present  companion,  but  I  don't  owe 
Filmore  a  cent.  I  merely  worked  up  a  business  and 
sold  my  share  in  it.  Of  course,  they  didn't  know  I 
was  selling  it,  but  they'll  find  out  when  they  go  over 
the  records,  which  are  perfectly  straight.  If,  after 


WIX    DISAPPEARS    FOR    EVER        59 

buying  the  chance  to  go  into  business,  they  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  it,  it  isn't  my  fault." 

A  traveling  man  who  had  once  been  in  the  office 
of  The  La  Salle  Grain  and  Stock  Brokerage  Com- 
pany for  an  afternoon's  flyer,  and  who  remembered 
the  cordial  ease  with  which  Wix  had  taken  his 
money,  came  over  to  the  table. 

"Hello,  Wix;  how's  tricks?"  he  hailed. 

Wix  looked  up  at  him  blankly  but  courteously. 

"Beg  pardon,"  he  returned. 

The  face  of  the  traveling  man  fell. 

"Aren't  you  Mr.  Wix,  of  Filmore?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  replied  Wix,  smiling  with  great 
cordiality.  "Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  old  man." 

"Really,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  traveling 
man,  perplexed.  "It  is  the  most  remarkable  resem- 
blance I  ever  saw.  I  would  have  sworn  you  were 
Wix.  He  used  to  run  a  brokerage  shop  in  the  Grand 
Hotel  in  Filmore." 

"Never  was  in  the  town,"  lied  Wix. 

The  man  turned  away.  Daw  looked  after  him 
with  an  amused  smile. 

"By  the  way,  Wix,  what  is  your  name  now?" 

"By  George,  I  haven't  decided!   I  was  too  busy 


6o  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

getting  rid  of  my  only  handicap  to  think  up  a  sub- 
stitute. I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute,"  and  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment  he  invented  a  quite  euphonious  name, 
one  which  was  to  last  him  for  a  great  many  years. 

"Wallingford,"  he  announced.    "How  does  that 
hit  you?  J.  Rufus  Wallingford!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

J.  RUFUS  PROVES  A  SAD,  SAD  DISAPPOINTMENT  TO 
SOME   CLEVER    PEOPLE 

THEY  were  glad  to  see  Blackie  Daw  back  on 
Broadway — that  is,  in  the  way  that  Broadway 
is  glad ;  for  they  of  the  Great  White  Way  have  no 
sentiments  and  no  emotions,  and  but  scant  mem- 
ories. About  Blackie's  companion,  however,  they 
were  professionally  curious. 

"Who  is  this  large,  pink  Wallingford  person,  and 
where  did  you  get  it?"  asked  Mr.  Phelps,  whose 
more  familiar  name  was  Green-Goods  Harry. 

Mr.  Daw,  standing  for  the  moment  with  Mr. 
Phelps  at  the  famous  old  cheese-and-crackers  end  of 
the  Fifth  Avenue  bar,  grinned. 

"He's  an  educated  Hick,"  he  responded,  "and  I 
got  him  out  of  the  heart  of  the  hay- fever  district, 
right  after  he'd  turned  a  classy  little  trick  on  the 
easy  producers  of  his  childhood  home.  Sold  'em  a 
bankrupt  bucket-shop  for  eight  thousand,  which  is 
going  some!" 

61 


62  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Mr.  Phelps,  natty  and  jaunty  and  curly-haired, 
though  shifty  of  eye,  through  long  habit  of  trying 
to  watch  front  and  back  doors  both  at  once,  looked 
with  a  shade  more  interest  across  at  the  imposing 
white  vest  of  young  J.  Rufus  where  he  stood  at  the 
bar  with  fat  and  somber  Badger  Billy.  There  was  a 
cocksure  touch  to  the  joviality  of  young  Walling- 
ford  which  was  particularly  aggravating  to  an  ex- 
pert like  Mr.  Phelps.  Young  Wallingford  was  so 
big,  so  impressive,  so  sure  of  pleasing,  so  certain  the 
world  was  his  oyster,  that  it  seemed  a  shame  not  to 
give  his  pride  a  tumble — for  his  own  sake,  of  course. 

"Has  he  got  the  eight  thousand  on  him,  do  you 
think  ?"  asked  the  green-goods  one,  his  interest  rap- 
idly increasing. 

"Not  so  you  could  notice  it,"  replied  Daw  with 
conviction.  "He's  a  wise  prop,  I  tell  you.  He's 
probably  lugging  about  five  hundred  in  his  kick, 
just  for  running  expenses,  and  has  a  time-lock  on 
the  rest." 

"We  might  tinker  with  the  lock,"  concluded 
Harry,  running  his  fingers  through  his  hair  to  settle 
the  curls;  "it's  worth  a  try,  anyhow." 

"You'll  bounce  right  off,"  declared  Mr.  Daw.  "I 
tried  to  put  a  sweet  one  over  in  his  home  town,  and 


A    SAD   DISAPPOINTMENT  63 

he  jolted  the  game  so  quick  he  made  its  teeth  rattle." 

"Then  you  owe  him  one,"  persisted  Mr.  Phelps, 
whom  it  pained  to  see  other  people  have  money. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  any  pumpkin  husker  can't 
be  trimmed  ?" 

"Enjoy  yourself,"  invited  Mr.  Daw  with  a  ret- 
rospective smile,  "but  count  me  out.  I'm  going  to 
Boston  next  week,  anyhow.  I'm  going  to  open  a 
mine  investment  office  there.  It's  a  nice  easy- 
money  mining  district." 

"For  pocket  mining,"  agreed  his  friend  dryly. 

Young  Wallingford,  in  his  desire  for  everybody 
to  be  happy,  looked  around  for  them  at  this  junc- 
ture, and  further  conversation  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. The  quartet  lounged  out  of  the  Fifth  Avenue 
bar  and  across  Broadway  in  that  dull  way  peculiar  to 
their  kind.  At  the  Hoffman  House  bar  they  were 
joined  by  a  cadaverous  gentleman  known  to  the  po- 
lice as  Short-Card  Larry,  whose  face  was  as  that 
of  a  corpse,  but  whose  lithe,  slender  fingers  were 
reputed  to  have  brains  of  their  own,  and  the  five  of 
them  sat  down  for  a  dull  half -hour.  Later  they  had 
dull  dinner  together,  strolled  dully  into  four  thea- 
ters, and,  still  dull,  wound  up  in  the  apartments  of 
Daw  and  J.  Rufus, 


64  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"What  do  you  think  of  them?"  asked  Blackie  in 
their  first  aside  moment. 

"They  give  me  the  pip,"  announced  J.  Rufus 
frankly.  "Why  do  they  hate  themselves  so?  Why 
do  they  sit  in  the  darkest  corners  and  bark  at  then> 
selves?  Can't  they  ever  drink  enough  to  get  oiled 
happy?" 

"Not  and  do  business  with  strangers  on  Broad-' 
way,"  Daw  explained.  "Phelps  has  been  shy  about 
thin  glassware  for  five  years,  ever  since  he  let  an 
Indiana  come-on  outdrink  him  and  steal  his  own 
money  back;  Billy  Banting  stops  after  the  third 
glass  of  anything,  on  account  of  his  fat;  the  only 
time  Larry  Teller  ever  got  pinched  was  for  getting 
spifflicated  and  telling  a  reporter  what  police  pro- 
tection cost  him." 

"If  I  wasn't  waiting  to  see  one  of  them  bite  him- 
self and  die  of  poison  I'd  cut  'em  out,"  returned 
Mr.  Wallingford  in  the  utmost  disgust.  "Any  one 
of  them  would  slung-shot  the  others  for  the  price  of 
a  cigarette.  Don't  they  ever  get  interested  in  any- 
thing?" 

"Nothing  but  easy  marks,"  replied  Mr.  Daw  with 
a  grin.  "The  way  they're  treating  you  is  a  compli- 
ment. They're  letting  you  just  be  one  of  them." 


A   SAD   DISAPPOINTMENT  65 

"One  of  them!  Take  it  back,  Blackie!"  protested 
Wallingford.  "Why,  they're  a  bunch  of  crooks !"  ' 

In  deep  dejection  young  Wallingford,  rejoining 
his  guests,  ordered  three  lemonades  and  a  quart  of 
champagne.  There  was  a  trifle  more  of  animation 
among  them  now,  however,  since  they  had  been  left 
alone  for  a  few  moments.  They  told  three  or  four 
very  hilarious  stories,  in  each  of  which  the  nub  of 
the  joke  hinged  on  an  utter  disregard  of  every  hu- 
man decency.  Then,  quite  casually  and  after  a  lull, 
Badger  Billy  smoothed  down  his  smart  vest  and 
cleared  his  throat. 

"What  do  you  fellows  say  to  a  little  game  of 
stud  ?"  he  proposed. 

"Sure!"  agreed  Wallingford  with  alacrity. 
"That's  the  first  live  noise  I've  heard  to-day,"  and 
he  went  to  the  'phone  at  once  to  order  up  some  cards 
and  chips. 

With  his  back  turned,  the  three  lemonade  drink- 
ers exchanged  pleased  smiles.  It  was  too  easy !  Mr. 
Daw  let  them  smile,  and  reposed  calmly  upon  the 
couch,  entirely  disinterested.  Professional  ethics  for- 
bade Mr.  Daw  to  interfere  with  the  "trimming"  of 
the  jovial  Mr.  Wallingford,  and  the  instincts  of  a 
gentleman,  with  which,  of  course,  they  were  all  per- 


66  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

fectly  provided,  prevented  him  from  taking  any  part 
in  that  agreeable  operation.  To  his  keen  amusement 
the  game  was  very  brief — scarcely  more  than  twenty 
minutes. 

It  was  Short-Card  Larry  who,  with  a  yawn,  dis- 
covered suddenly  how  late  it  was  and  stopped  the 
game.  As  he  rose  to  go,  young  Wallingford,  chuck- 
ling, was  adding  a  few  additional  bills  to  the  ple- 
thoric roll  in  his  pocket. 

"What  made  you  chop  the  game,  Larry?"  asked 
Green-Goods  Harry  in  impatient  wonder.  "We'd 
ought  to  strung  it  along  a  while.  What  made  you 
let  him  have  that  hundred  and  fifty  so  quick  ?" 

"Let  him !"  retorted  Larry  savagely.  "He  took  it ! 
Twice  I  gave  him  aces  back  to  back  on  my  deal,  and 
he  turned  them  down  without  a  bet.  On  his  own 
deal  he  bet  his  head  off  on  a  pair  of  deuces,  with  not 
one  of  us  three  able  to  draw  out  on  him;  and  right 
there  he  cops  that  hundred  and  fifty  himself.  He's 
too  fresh!" 

"Well,"  said  Badger  Billy  philosophically,  "he'll 
come  for  more." 

"Not  of  mine,  he  won't,"  snorted  the  dexterous 
one.  "I  can't  do  any  business  against  a  man  that's 
next.  I  hope  he  chokes." 


A    SAD    DISAPPOINTMENT  67 

"There  you  go  again,  letting  your  temper  get  the 
best  of  you,"  protested  Mr.  Phelps,  himself  none  too 
pleased.  "This  fresh  lollop  has  coin,  and  it  ought  to 
be  ours." 

"Ought  to  be  ?  It  is  ours,"  growled  Larry.  "We'll 
get  it  if  we  have  to  mace  him,  at  noon,  on  Madison 
Square." 

In  the  meantime  J.  Rufus  was  chuckling  himself 
to  sleep.  He  rose  at  eleven,  breakfasted  at  one,  and 
was  dressing  and  planning  to  besiege  New  York 
upon  his  own  account,  when  the  telephone  advised 
him  that  Mr.  Phelps  was  down-stairs  with  a  parched 
throat,  and  on  the  way  up  to  get  a  drink ! 

"Fine  business!"  exclaimed  J.  Rufus  with  a  cor- 
diality which  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
puzzled  expression  on  his  brow.  " What'll  you  have  ? 
I'll  order  it  while  you're  on  your  way  up." 

"Nothing  stronger  than  a  Scotch  highball,"  was 
the  reply,  whereupon  young  Wallingford,  as  soon 
as  the  telephone  was  clear,  ordered  the  materials 
therefor. 

"Fine  business,"  he  repeated  to  himself  musingly 
as  he  stood  with  his  hand  still  on  the  receiver  after 
he  had  hung  it  up ;  "also  rough  work,  This  thirs.t  is 
too  sudden," 


68  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

He  was  still  most  thoughtful  when  Mr.  Phelps 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  had  yet  more  food  for  con- 
templation when  the  caller  began  talking  with  great 
enthusiasm  about  his  thirst,  explaining  the  height 
and  breadth  and  thickness  thereof,  its  atomic  weight, 
its  color  and  the  excellent  style  of  its  finish. 

"If  I  just  had  that  thirst  outside  of  me  where  I 
could  get  at  it,  I  could  make  an  airship  of  it,"  he 
imaginatively  concluded. 

"Gas  or  hot  air?"  inquired  young  Mr.  Walling- 
ford,  entirely  unmoved,  as  he  poured  the  highballs 
and  dosed  both  quite  liberally  with  the  Scotch, 
whereat  Mr.  Phelps  almost  visibly  winced,  though 
gamely  planning  to  drink  with  every  appearance  of 
enjoyment. 

"Where's  Daw?"  he  asked,  after  two  sips  which 
he  tried  to  make  seem  like  gulps. 

"Gone  out  to  a  print-shop  to  locate  a  couple  of 
gold  mines,"  announced  Wallingford  dryly,  holding 
his  own  opinion  as  to  the  folly  of  Mr.  Daw's  meth- 
ods. They  were  so  unsanctioned  of  law. 

"Sorry  for  that,"  said  Mr.  Phelps,  who  was  never- 
theless relieved  to  hear  it,  for  Mr.  Daw  was  rather 
in  the  way.  "We've  got  a  great  game  on;  a  Reuben 
right  from  Reubensville,  with  five  thousand  of  pa's 


A    SAD    DISAPPOINTMENT  69 

money  in  his  jeans.  I  wanted  you  fellows  to  come 
and  look  him  over." 

"What's  the  use?"  returned  Wallingford.  "Come 
down  to  the  lobby  and  I'll  show  you  a  whole  pro- 
cession of  them." 

"No,  but  they're  not  so  liberal  as  this  boy,"  pro- 
tested Phelps  laughing.  "He  just  naturally  hones 
and  hones  and  hones  to  hand  us  this  nice  little  bun- 
dle of  kale,  and  we're  going  to  accommodate  him. 
You  can  get  in  on  the  split-up  if  you  want  to.  Daw 
would  have  first  choice,  of  course,  if  he  was  here, 
but  since  he  isn't  you  might  as  well  come  in.  Five 
thousand  iron  men  are  hardly  worth  bending  to  pick 
up,  I  guess." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  objected  .Wallingford  con- 
descendingly. "It  would  make  cigarette  money, 
anyhow,  if  there  are  not  too  many  to  tear  it  apart." 

"It  takes  just  four,"  Phelps  informed  him: 
"look-out,  spieler,  panel-man  and  engraver." 

Wallingford  shook  his  head,  refusing  even  to 
speculate  on  the  duties  of  the  four  named  actors  in 
the  playlet. 

"Four  makes  it  hardly  union  wages,"  he  objected. 

Green-Goods  Harry  cast  at  him  a  look  of  quick 
dislike, 


70  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"I  know,  but  wait  till  you  see  the  sample,"  he  in- 
sisted. "The  fun's  worth  more  than  the  meat.  He's 
the  rawest  you  ever  saw;  wants  green  goods,  you 
know ;  thinks  there  really  is  green  goods,  and  stands 
ready  to  exchange  his  five  thousand  of  the  genuine 
rhino  for  twenty  of  the  phoney  stuff.  Of  course  you 
know  how  this  little  joke  is  rimmed  up.  We  count 
out  the  twenty  thousand  in  real  money  and  wrap  it 
up  in  bales  before  both  of  his  eyes,  then  put  it  in  a 
little  satchel  of  which  we  make  Mr.  Alfred  Alfalfa 
a  present.  While  we're  giving  him  the  solemn  talk 
about  the  po-lice  Badger  Billy  switches  in  another 
satchel  with  the  same  kind  of  looking  bales  in  it, 
but  made  out  of  tissue-paper  with  twenties  top  and 
bottom;  then  we  all  move,  and  Henry  Whiskers 
don't  dare  make  a  holler  because  he's  in  on  a  crooked 
play  himself;  see?" 

"I  see,"  assented  Wallingford  still  dryly.  "I've 
been  reading  the  papers  ever  since  I  was  a  kid.  What 
puzzles  me  is  how  you  can  find  anybody  left  in  the 
world  who  isn't  hep." 

"There's  a  new  sucker  born  every  minute,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Phelps  airily,  whereat  Wallingford,  de- 
tecting that  Mr.  Phelps  held  his  intelligence  and 


A   SAD   DISAPPOINTMENT  71 

education  so  cheaply  as  to  offer  this  sage  remark  as 
original,  inwardly  fumed. 

"Come  on  and  look  him  over,  anyhow,"  insisted 
Phelps,  rising. 

Wallingford  arose  reluctantly. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  highball?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"It's  great  Scotch!"  said  Mr.  Phelps  enthusiasti- 
cally, and  drank  about  a  tablespoonful  with  great 
avidity.  "Come  on;  the  boys  are  waiting,"  and  he 
surged  toward  the  door. 

Wallingford  finished  his  own  glass  contempla- 
tively and  followed  with  a  trace  of  annoyance. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WALLINGFORD  HELPS  IN  A  GREEN-GOODS  PLAYLET 
PURELY    FOR   ACCOMMODATION 

INTO  the  back  room  of  a  flashy  saloon  just  off 
Broadway  Mr.  Phelps  led  the  way,  after  paus- 
ing outside  to  post  Wallingford  carefully  on  all  their 
new  names,  and  here  they  found  Billy  Banting  and 
Larry  Teller  in  company  with  a  stranger,  one  glance 
at  whom  raised  Wallingford's  spirits  quite  appre- 
ciably, for  he  was  so  obviously  made  up. 

He  was  a  raw-boned  young  fellow  who  wore  an 
out-of-date  derby,  a  cheap,  made  cravat  which  rode 
his  collar,  a  cheap  suit  of  loud-checked  clothes  that 
was  entirely  too  tight  for  him,  and  the  trousers  of 
which,  two  inches  too  short,  were  rounded  stiffly  out 
below  the  knees,  like  stove-pipes,  by  top-boots  which 
were  wrinkled  about  the  ankles.  Moreover,  the 
stranger  spoke  with  a  nasal  drawl  never  heard  off 
the  stage. 

Wallingford,  with  a  wink  from  Phelps,  was  in- 
72 


A   GREEN-GOODS    PLAYLET          73 

troduced  to  Mr.  Pickins  as  Mr.  Mombley.  Then, 
leaning  down  to  Mr.  Pickins  with  another  prodi- 
gious wink  at  Wallingford,  Phelps  said  in  a  stage- 
whisper  to  the  top-booted  one : 

"Mr.  Mombley  is  our  engraver.  Used  to  work  in 
the  mint." 

"Well,  I'll  swan!"  drawled  Mr.  Pickins.  "I'd 
reckoned  to  find  such  a  fine  gove'ment  expert  a  older 
man." 

With  a  sigh  Wallingford  took  up  his  expected 
part. 

"I'm  older  than  I  look,"  said  he.  "Making  money 
keeps  a  man  young." 

"I  reckon,"  agreed  Mr.  Pickins,  and  "haw- 
hawed"  quite  broadly.  "And  did  you  really  make 
this  greenback?"  he  asked,  drawing  from  his  vest 
pocket  a  crinkled  new  ten-dollar-bill  which  he  spread 
upon  the  table  and  examined  with  very  eager  inter- 
est indeed. 

"This  is  one  of  that  last  batch,  Joe,"  Short-Card 
Larry  negligently  informed  Wallingford,  with  a 
meaning  wink.  "I  just  gave  it  to  him  as  a  sample." 

"By  jingo,  it's  scrumptious  work !"  said  Mr.  Pick- 
ins  admiringly. 

"Yes,  they'll  take  that  for  a  perfectly  good  bill 


74  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

anywhere,"  asserted  Wallingford.  "Just  spend  it 
and  see,"  and  he  pushed  the  button.  "Bring  us  a 
bottle  of  the  best  champagne  you  have  in  the  house," 
he  directed  the  waiter,  and  with  satisfaction  he  noted 
the  startled  raising  of  heads  all  around  the  table, 
including  the  head  of  Mr.  Pickins. 

"I  don't  like  to  brag  on  myself,"  continued  Wall- 
ingford, taking  on  fresh  animation  as  he  began  to 
see  humor  in  the  situation,  "but  I  think  I'm  the 
grandest  little  money-maker  in  the  city,  in  my  special 
line.  I  don't  go  after  small  game  very  often.  A  ten 
is  the  smallest  I  handle.  Peters,"  he  suddenly  com- 
manded Phelps,  "show  him  one  of  those  lovely 
twenties." 

"I  don't  think  I  have  one  of  the  new  ones,"  said 
Phelps,  moistening  his  lips,  but  nevertheless  reach- 
ing for  his  wallet.  "I  think  the  only  twenties  I  have 
are  those  that  we  put  through  the  aging  process." 

Wallingford  calmly  took  the  wallet  from  him  and 
as  calmly  leafed  over  the  bills  it  contained. 

"No,  none  of  these  twenties  is  from  the  new 
batch,"  he  decided,  entering  more  and  more  into  the 
spirit  of  the  game,  "but  this  half-century  is  one  that 
we're  all  proud  of.  Just  examine  that,  Mr.  Pickins," 
and  closing  the  wallet  he  handed  it  back  to  Phelps, 


A   GREEN-GOODS    PLAYLET          75 

passing  the  fifty-dollar  bill  to  the  stranger.  "Billy, 
give  me  one  of  those  twenties.  I'm  bound  to  show 
Mr.  Pickins  one  of  our  best  output." 

Badger  Billy,  being  notorious  even  among  his  fel- 
lows as  a  tight-wad,  swallowed  hard,  but  he  pro- 
duced a  small  roll  of  bills  and  extracted  the  newest 
twenty  he  could  find.  During  this  process  it  had 
twice  crossed  Billy's  mind  to  revolt;  but,  after  all, 
Wallingford  was  evincing  an  interest  in  the  game 
that  might  be  worth  while. 

"That's  it,"  approved  Wallingford,  running  it 
through  his  fingers  and  passing  it  over  to  Pickins. 
He  got  up  from  his  place  and  took  the  vacant  chair 
by  that  gentleman.  "I  just  want  you  to  look  at  the 
nifty  imitation  of  engine  work  in  this  scroll  border," 
he  insisted  with  vast  enthusiasm,  while  Mr.  Pickins 
cast  a  despairing  glance,  half-puzzled  and  half-bored, 
at  the  others  of  the  company,  themselves  awed  into 
silence. 

He  was  still  explaining  the  excellent  work  in  the 
more  intricate  portions  of  the  two  designs  when  the 
waiter  appeared  with  the  wine,  and  Wallingford 
only  interrupted  himself  long  enough  nonchalantly 
to  toss  the  ten-dollar  bill  on  the  tray  after  the 
glasses  were  filled.  Then,  with  vast  fervor,  he  re- 


76  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

turned  to  the  counterfeiting  business,  with  the  speci- 
mens before  him  as  an  inspiring  text. 

The  waiter  brought  back  two  dollars  in  silver. 

"Just  keep  the  change,"  said  Wallingford  grandly, 
and  then,  as  the  waiter  was  about  to  withdraw,  he 
quickly  handed  up  the  fifty  and  the  twenty-dollar 
bills  to  him.  "Just  take  this  twenty,  George,"  said  he 
to  the  waiter,  "and  run  down  to  the  cigar-store  on 
the  corner  and  buy  some  of  those  dollar  cigars.  You 
might  as  well  get  us  about  three  apiece.  Then  take 
this  fifty  and  get  us  a  box  for  The  Prince  of  Pikers 
to-night.  Hustle  right  on,  now,"  and  he  gave  the 
waiter  a  gentle  but  insistent  shove  on  the  arm  that 
had  all  the  effect  of  bustling  him  out  of  the  room. 
"We'll  show  Mr.  Pickins  a  good  time,"  he  exult- 
antly declared.  "We'll  show  him  how  easy  it  is  to 
live  on  soft  money  like  this." 

Wallingford  had  held  the  floor  for  fifteen  solid 
minutes.  Now  he  paused  for  some  one  else  to  offer 
a  remark,  his  eager  eye  glowing  with  the  sense  of  a 
duty  not  only  well,  but  brilliantly,  performed,  as  it 
roved  from  one  to  the  other  in  search  of  approval. 
But  feeble  encouragement  was  in  any  other  eye. 
Four  men  could  have  throttled  him,  singly  and  in 
company.  Wallingford  was  too  enthusiastic  an 


A   GREEN-GOODS    PLAYLET          77 

actor.  He  was  taking  the  part  entirely  too  well,  and 
a  vague  doubt  began  to  cross  the  minds  of  the  other 
gentlemen  in  the  party  as  to  whether  he  would  do  or 
not.  It  was  Short-Card  Larry  who  first  recovered 
his  poise  and  broke  the  dismal  silence. 

"Show  him  one  or  two  of  those  new  hundreds, 
Mombley,"  he  invited  Wallingford  with  almost  3 
snarl. 

Wallingford  merely  smiled  in  a  superior  way. 

"You  know  I  never  carry  any  but  the  genuine," 
he  said  in  mild  reproach.  "It  wouldn't  do,  you 
know.  Anyhow,  are  we  sure  that  Mr.  Pickins  wants 
to  invest  ?" 

Mr.  Pickins  drew  a  long  breath  and  once  more 
plunged  into  the  character  which  he  had  almost 
doffed. 

^  "Invest?  Well,  I  reckon!"  he  nasally  drawled. 
"If  I  can  get  twenty  thousand  dollars  as  good  money 
as  that  for  five,  I'd  be  a  blame  fool  not  to  take  it 
And  I  got  the  five  thousand,  too." 

Things  were  coming  back  to  a  normal  basis  now, 
and  the  others  cheered  up. 

"Look  here,"  Mr.  Pickins  went  on,  and,  reaching 
down,  he  drew  off  with  much  tugging  one  of  the 
high  boots,  in  the  top  of  which  had  reposed  a  pack- 


78  .YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

age  of  greenbacks :  ten  crisp,  nice-looking  five-hun- 
dred-dollar bills. 

For  just  a  moment  Wallingford  eyed  that  money 
speculatively,  then  he  picked  up  one  of  the  bills  and 
slid  it  through  his  fingers. 

"It's  good  money,  I  suppose,"  he  observed.  "You 
can  hardly  tell  the  good  from  the  bad  these  days, 
except  by  offering  to  spend  it.  We  might  break  one 
of  these — say  for  an  automobile  ride." 

"No,  you  don't,"  hurriedly  interposed  Mr.  Pick- 
ins,  losing  his  nasal  drawl  for  the  moment  and 
reaching  for  the  bill,  which  he  put  back  in  the  pack- 
age, snapping  a  weak  rubber  band  around  it.  "I 
reckon  I  don't  let  go  of  one  of  these  bills  till  I  see 
something  in  exchange.  I — I  ain't  no  greenhorn !" 

His  nasal  drawl  had  come  back,  and  now  seemed 
to  be  the  cue  for  all  the  others  to  affect  laughter. 

"To  be  sure  he's  not,"  said  Mr.  Phelps,  reaching 
over  to  slap  him  on  the  back  in  all  the  jovial  hearti- 
ness with  which  a  greenhorn  is  supposed  to  be  en- 
couraged. "You're  wise,  all  right,  Pickins.  We 
wouldn't  do  business  with  you  if  you  weren't.  You 
see,  we're  putting  ourselves  in  danger  of  the  peni- 
tentiary and  we  have  to  be  careful.  More  than  that, 
wise  people  come  back ;  and,  with  a  dozen  or  so  like 


A    GREEN-GOODS    PLAYLET  79 

Mr.  Pickins  shoving  the  queer  for  us,  we  put  out 
about  all  we  can  make.  Nobody  in  the  business,  Mr. 
Pickins,  gets  as  high  a  price  for  green  goods  as  we 
do,  and  nobody  in  the  business  keeps  all  their  cus- 
tomers as  we  do.  That's  because  our  output  is  so 
good." 

This,  which  was  one  of  the  rehearsed  speeches, 
went  off  very  well,  and  they  began  to  feel  com- 
fortable again. 

"That's  me,  by  Jinks!"  announced  Pickins,  slap- 
ping his  leg.  "I'll  be  one  of  your  steady  customers, 
all  right.  When'll  I  get  this  first  twenty  thousand?" 

"Right  away,"  said  Mr.  Phelps,  rising.  "Just  wait 
a  moment  till  I  talk  it  over  with  the  engraver  and 
see  if  he  has  the  supply  ready." 

"The  supply's  all  right,"  declared  Wallingford. 
"These  boys  will  'tend  to  the  business  with  you,  Mr. 
Pickins.  I'm  very  glad  to  have  met  you.  I'll  prob- 
ably see  you  to-night  at  the  show.  I  have  to  go  back 
and  look  after  a  little  more  engraving  just  now." 
And,  shaking  hands  cordially  with  Mr.  Pickins,  he 
rose  to  go. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Mombley,"  said  Phelps  amidst 
a  general  scowl,  and  he  walked  outside  with  Wall- 
ingford. "Fine  work,  old  man,"  he  complimented, 


8o  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

keeping  his  suavity  with  no  little  effort.  "We  can 
go  right  in  and  pick  our  bunch  of  posies  any  min- 
ute." 

"Go  right  ahead!"  said  Wallingford  heartily. 
"I'm  glad  to  have  helped  you  out  a  little." 

Mr.  Phelps  looked  at  him  in  sour  speculation. 

"Of  course  you're  in  on  it,"  he  observed  with  a 
great  air  of  making  a  merely  perfunctory  remark. 

"Me?"  inquired  Wallingford  in  surprise.  "Not 
on  your  life.  I  only  played  engraver  for  accommo- 
dation. I  thought  I  did  a  grand  little  piece  of  work, 
too." 

"But  we  can't  go  through  without  you,"  insisted 
Mr.  Phelps  desperately,  ignoring  the  other's  mad- 
dening complacency  and  sticking  to  the  main  point. 
"It  takes  twenty  thousand  and  we  only  have  five 
thousand  apiece.  We're  looking  to  you  for  the  other 
five." 

Wallingford  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes,  with 
an  entire  change  of  manner,  and  chuckled. 

"There  are  four  reasons,  Phelps,  why  I  won't," 
he  kindly  explained.  "The  first  is,  I  never  do  any- 
thing in  partnership;  second,  I  never  pike;  third,  I 
won't  take  a  fall  out  of  any  game  that  has  the 
brown-and-white-striped  clothes  at  the  end  of  it; 


A   GREEN-GOODS   PLAYLET         81 

fourth,  Billy  might  not  get  the  satchels  switched 
right;  extra,  I  won't  fool  with  any  farmer  that 
strikes  a  match  on  the  sole  of  his  boot!" 

The  fifth  and  extra  reason  was  so  unexpected  and 
was  laid  before  Mr.  Phelps  with  such  meaning  em- 
phasis that  that  gentleman  could  only  drop  his  jaw 
and  gape  in  reply.  Wallingford  laid  both  hands  on 
his  shoulders  and  chuckled  in  his  face. 

"You're  a  fiercely  unimaginative  bunch/'  he  said. 
"Let's  don't  try  to  do  any  more  business  together. 
Just  come  up  to  my  room  to-night  and  have  a 
friendly  game  of  stud  poker." 

At  last  Green-Goods  Harry  found  his  tongue. 

"You  go  to  hell !"  said  he. 

Back  in  their  common  sitting-room,  Wallingford 
found  Daw  studying  some  gaudy  samples  of  stock 
certificates.  "Blackie,  did  you  tell  this  gang  of  yours 
that  they  didn't  drink  enough  to  suit  me?"  Walling- 
ford demanded. 

Blackie  grinned. 

"They  wanted  to  know  why  you  wouldn't  warm 
up,"  he  admitted. 

"I  see  the  pretty,  pretty  lights  at  last,"  Walling- 
ford chuckled.  "I  was  sure  there  was  something 
doing  when  Curly  Harry  came  up  here  claiming  a 


82  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

thirst,  and  went  so  far  as  to  drink  champagne  on  top 
of  a  highball." 

"He's  taking  stomach  and  liver  dope  right  now," 
Blackie  guessed.  "You  see,  these  Broadway  boys  are 
handicapped  when  they  run  across  a  man  who  still 
has  a  lining.  They  lost  theirs  years  ago." 

"They  lost  everything  years  ago.  I'm  disap- 
pointed in  them,  Blackie.  I  had  supposed  that  these 
people  of  the  metropolis  had  Herman  the  Great  look- 
ing like  a  Bowery  waiter  when  it  came  to  smooth 
work;  but  they've  got  nothing  but  thumbs." 

"You  do  them  deep  wrong,  J.  Rufus  Wallingford 
Wix,"  admonished  Blackie.  "I've  trailed  with  this 
crowd  four  or  five  years.  They're  always  to  be 
found  right  here  and  they  always  have  coin — 
whether  they  spend  it  or  not." 

"They  get  it  gold-bricking  New  Yorkers,  then," 
declared  Wallingford  contemptuously.  "They 
couldn't  cold  deck  anybody  on  the  rural  free  delivery 
routes.  They  wear  the  lemon  sign  on  their  faces, 
and  when  one  of  their  kind  comes  west  of  the  big 
hills  we  padlock  all  our  money  in  our  pockets  and 
lock  ourselves  in  jail  till  they  get  out  of  town." 

"What  have  they  been  doing  to  you?"  asked 
Blackie.  "You've  got  a  regular  Matteawan  grouch." 


A   GREEN-GOODS    PLAYLET          83 

"They  had  the  nerve  to  try  to  ring  me  in  for  the 
fall  guy  on  a  green-goods  play,  baited  up  with  a 
stage  farmer  from  One  Hundred  and  Sixtieth 
Street,"  asserted  Wallingford.  "Don't  they  ever 
spring  a  new  one  here  ?" 

Mr.  Blackie  Daw  only  laughed. 

"I'm  afraid  they  don't,"  he  confessed.  "They 
take  the  old  ones  that  have  got  the  money  for  years, 
and  work  in  new  props  and  scenery  on  them,  just 
like  they  do  in  the  theaters;  and  that  goes  for 
Broadway." 

"It  don't  go  for  me,"  declared  Wallingford.  "If 
they  come  after  mine  again  I'll  get  real  peevish  and 
take  their  flash  rolls  away  from  them/' 

"Go  to  it,"  invited  Blackie.  "They  need  a  trim- 
ming." 

"I  think  I'll  hand  it  to  them,"  said  Wallingford 
savagely,  and  started  to  walk  out. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  the  other. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Wallingford,  "but  I  am 
going  to  scare  up  some  excitement  in  the  only  way 
possible  for  a  stranger,  and  that  is  go  out  and  hunt 
for  it  by  myself.  No  New  Yorker  knows  where 
to  go." 

In  the  bar  Wallingford  found  a  convivial  gentle- 


84  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

man  from  Georgia,  lonesome  like  himself,  with 
whom  he  became  firm  friends  in  an  hour,  and  it 
was  after  midnight  when,  their  friendship  still  fur- 
ther fixed  by  plenty  of  liquid  cement,  he  left  the 
Georgian  at  one  of  the  broad,  bright  entrances  in 
charge  of  a  doorman.  It  being  but  a  few  blocks 
to  his  own  hotel,  he  walked,  carrying  with  compla- 
cent satisfaction  a  burden  of  assorted  beverages 
that  would  have  staggered  most  men. 

It  was  while  he  was  pausing  upon  his  own  corner 
for  a  moment  to  consider  the  past  evening  in  smiling 
retrospection,  that  a  big-boned  policeman  tapped  him 
on  the  shoulder.  He  was  startled  for  a  moment,  but 
a  hearty  voice  reassured  him  with : 

"Why,  hello,  Wix,  my  boy !  When  did  you  come 
to  town?" 

A  smile  broke  over  Wallingford's  face  as  he 
shook  hands  with  the  bluecoat. 

"Hello,  Harvey,"  he  returned.  "I  never  would 
have  looked  for  you  in  this  make-up.  It's  a  funny 
job  for  the  ex-secretary  of  the  Filmore  Coal  Com- 
pany." 

"Forget  it,"  returned  Harvey  complacently. 
"There's  three  squares  a  day  in  this  and  pickings. 
Where  are  you  stopping?" 


A   GREEN-GOODS    PLAYLET          85 

Wallingford  told  him,  and  then  looked  at  him 
speculatively. 

"Come  up  and  see  me  when  you  go  off  watch," 
he  invited.  "But  don't  ask  for  me  under  the  name 
of  Wix.  It's  Wallingford  now,  J.  Rufus  Walling- 
ford." 

"No !"  said  Harvey.  "What  did  you  do  at  home?" 

"Not  a  thing,"  protested  Wallingford.  "I  can 
go  right  back  to  Filmore  and  play  hop-scotch  around 
the  county  jail  if  I  want  to.  I  just  didn't  like  the 
name,  that's  all.  But  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Har- 
vey. I  think  I  can  throw  about  a  hundred  or  so  in 
your  way." 

"Not  me,"  returned  Harvey  with  a  grin.  "That's 
the  price  of  a  murder  in  this  town." 

"Come  up,  and  I'll  coax  you,"  laughed  Walling- 
ford. 

He  walked  away  quite  thoughtfully.  Harvey 
Willis,  who  had  left  Filmore  on  account  of  his  fine 
sense  of  honor — he  had  embezzled  to  pay  a  poker 
debt — seemed  suddenly  to  fit  an  empty  and  an  ach- 
ing void. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  THIRD  ARM  TO  THE  OLD-FASHIONED  DOUBLE  CROSS 

HE  fresh  Hick!"  observed  Mr.  Pickins  sav- 
agely. "I'd  like  to  hand  him  a  bunch  of 
knuckles." 

Mr.  Pickins  was  not  now  in  character,  but  was 
clad  in  quite  ordinary  good  clothes;  his  prominent 
cheek-bones,  however,  had  become  two  white  spots 
in  the  midst  of  an  angrily  red  countenance. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  blame  him  so  much,"  said 
Phelps.  "The  trouble  is  we  sized  him  for  about  the 
intelligence  of  a  louse.  Anybody  who  would  stand 
for  your  Hoop-pole  Caounty  line  of  talk  wouldn't 
need  such  a  careful  frame-up  to  make  him  lay  down 
his  money." 

"There's  something  to  that,"  agreed  Short-Card 
Larry.  "I  always  did  say  your  work  was  too  strong, 
Pick." 

"There  ain't  another  man  in  the  crowd  can  play 
as  good  a  Rube,"  protested  Mr.  Pickins,  touched 
86 


THE    DOUBLE   CROSS  87 

deeply  upon  the  matter  of  his  art.  "I  don't  know 
how  many  thousands  we've  cleaned  up  on  that  out- 
fit of  mine." 

"Ye-e-es,  but  this  Wallingford  person  called  the 
turn,"  insisted  Phelps.  "The  only  times  we  ever 
made  it  stick  was  on  the  kind  of  farmers  that  work 
in  eleven-story  office  buildings.  You  can  fool  a  man 
with  a  stuffed  dog,  but  you  can't  fool  a  dog  with  it ; 
and  you  couldn't  fool  Yap  Wallingford  with  a 
counterfeit  yap." 

"Well,"  announced  Mr.  Pickins,  with  emphatic 
finality,  "you  may  have  my  part  of  him.  I'm  willing 
to  let  him  go  right  back  to  Oskaloosa,  or  Oshkosh, 
or  wherever  it  is." 

"Not  me,"  declared  Phelps.  "I  want  to  get  him 
just  on  general  principles.  He's  handed  me  too 
much  flossy  talk.  You  know  the  last  thing  he  had 
the  nerve  to  say?  He  invited  us  up  to  play  stud 
poker  with  him." 

"Why  don't  you  ?"  asked  Pickins. 

"Ask  Larry,"  said  Phelps  with  a  laugh,  whereat 
Larry  merely  swore. 

Badger  Billy,  who  had  been  silently  listening  with 
his  eyes  half  closed,  was  possessed  of  a  sudden  in- 
ventive gift. 


S8  YOUNG  WALLINGFORD 

"Yes,  why  don't  you?"  he  repeated.  "If  I  read 
this  village  cut-up  right,  and  I  think  I  do,  he'll  take  a 
sporting  chance.  Get  him  over  to  the  Forty-second 
Street  dump  on  a  proposition  to  play  two-handed 
stud  with  Harry  there,  then  pull  off  a  phoney  pinch 
for  gambling." 

"No  chance,"  returned  Phelps.  "He'd  be  on  to 
that  game;  it's  a  dead  one,  too." 

"Not  if  you  work  it  this  way,"  insisted  Billy,  in 
whom  the  creative  spirit  was  still  strong.  "Tell  him 
that  we're  all  sore  at  Harry,  here ;  that  Harry  threw 
the  gang  last  night  and  got  me  put  away.  I'll  have 
McDermott  take  me  down  and  lock  me  up  on  sus- 
picion for  a  couple  of  hours,  so  you  can  bring  him 
down  and  show  me  to  him.  Tell  him  you've  found 
a  way  to  get  square.  Harry's  supposed  to  have  a 
grouch  about  that  stud  poker  taunt  and  wants  to 
play  Wallingford  two-handed,  five  thousand  a  side. 
Tell  him  to  go  into  this  game,  and  that  just  when 
they  have  the  money  and  the  cards  on  the  table, 
you'll  pull  off  a  phoney  pinch  and  have  your  fake 
officer  take  the  money  and  cards  for  evidence,  then 
you'll  split  up  with  him  ?" 

Billy  paused  and  looked  around  with  a  triumphant 
eye.  It  was  a  long,  long  speech  for  the  Badger,  and 


THE   DOUBLE   CROSS  89 

a  vivid  bit  of  creative  work  of  which  he  felt  justly 
proud. 

"Fine !"  observed  Larry  in  deep  sarcasm.  "Then 
I  suppose  we  give  him  the  blackjack  and  take  it  all 
away  from  him?" 

"No,  you  mutt,"  returned  Billy,  having  waited 
for  this  objection  so  as  to  bring  out  the  clever  part 
of  his  scheme  as  a  climax.  "Just  as  we  have  Dan 
pull  off  the  pinch,  in  jumps  Sprig  Poles  and  pinches 
Dan  for  impersonating  an  officer.  Then  Sprig  cops 
the  money  and  the  cards  for  evidence,  while  we  all 
make  a  get-away." 

A  long  and  thoughtful  silence  followed  the  exposi- 
tion of  this  great  scheme  of  Billy's.  It  was  Phelps 
who  spoke  first. 

"There's  one  thing  about  it,"  he  admitted :  "it's  a 
new  one." 

"Grandest  little  double  cross  that  was  ever  pulled 
over,"  announced  Billy  in  the  pride  of  authorship. 

It  was  a  matter  of  satisfaction,  to  say  nothing  of 
surprise,  to  Short-Card  Larry  to  note  the  readiness, 
even  the  alacrity,  with  which  young  Wallingford  fell 
into  the  trap.  Would  he  accept  the  traitorous  Mr. 
Phelps'  challenge  if  guaranteed  that  he  would  win? 
He  would !  There  was  nothing  young  Wallingford 


90  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

detested  so  much  as  a  traitor.  Moreover,  he  had  a 
grouch  at  Mr.  Phelps  himself. 

Short-Card  Larry  had  expected  to  argue  more 
than  this,  and,  having  argument  still  lying  heavily 
upon  his  lungs,  must  rid  himself  of  it.  It  must  be 
distinctly  understood  that  the  crowd  wanted  noth- 
ing whatever  out  of  this.  They  merely  wished  to 
see  the  foresworn  Mr.  Phelps  lose  all  his  money,  so 
that  he  could  not  hire  a  lawyer  to  defend  him,  and 
when  he  was  thus  resourceless  they  intended  to  have 
him  arrested  on  an  old  charge  and  "sent  over." 
They  were  very  severe  and  heartless  about  Mr. 
Phelps,  but  they  did  not  want  his  money.  They 
would  not  touch  it!  Wallingford  could  have  it  all 
with  the  exception  of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  he  would  have  to  pay  to  the  experienced 
plain-clothes-man  impersonator  whom  Larry,  hav- 
ing a  wide  acquaintance,  would  secure. 

Mr.  Wallingford  understood  perfectly.  He  ap- 
preciated thoroughly  the  motives  that  actuated  Mr. 
Larry  Teller  and  his  friends,  and  those  motives  did 
them  credit.  He  counted  himself,  moreover,  highly 
fortunate  in  being  on  hand  to  take  advantage  of  the 
situation.  Still  moreover,  after  the  trick  was 
turned  he  would  stand  a  fine  dinner  for  the  entire 


THE   DOUBLE   CROSS  91 

crowd,  including  Mr.  Pickins,  to  whom  Mr.  Teller 
would  kindly  convey  his,  Mr.  Wallingford's,  re- 
spects. 

Accepting  this  commission  with  some  inward  re- 
sentment but  outward  pleasure,  Mr.  Teller  suggested 
that  the  game  be  played  off  that  very  afternoon. 
Mr.  Wallingford  was  very  sorry.  That  afternoon 
and  evening  he  had  business  of  grave  importance. 
To-morrow  evening,  however,  say  at  about  nine 
o'clock,  he  would  be  on  hand  with  the  five  thousand, 
in  bills  of  convenient  denomination.  Mr.  Teller 
might  call  for  him  at  the  hotel  and  escort  him  to 
the  room,  although,  from  having  had  the  location 
previously  pointed  out  to  him,  Mr.  Wallingford  was 
quite  sure  he  could  find  Mr.  Teller's  apartment, 
where  the  contest  was  to  take  place.  Left  alone, 
Mr.  Wallingford,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  youth, 
lay  back  in  his  big  chair  and  spent  five  solid  minutes 
in  chuckling  self -congratulation,  to  the  great  mysti- 
fication of  the  incoming  Mr.  Daw,  whom  J.  Rufus 
would  not  quite  trust  with  his  reason  for  mirth. 
Feeling  the  need  of  really  human  companionship  at 
this  juncture,  young  Wallingford  called  up  his  con- 
vivial friend  from  Georgia  and  they  went  out  to 
spend  another  busy  and  pleasant  afternoon  and  even- 


92  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

ing,  amid  a  rapidly  widening  circle  of  friends  whom 
these  two  enterprising  and  jovial  gentlemen  had 
already  managed  to  attach  to  them.  With  an  eye  to 
business,  however,  Wallingford  carefully  timed 
their  wanderings  so  that  he  should  return,  alone,  on 
foot,  to  his  own  hotel  a  trifle  after  midnight. 

As  Mr.  Teller  and  Mr.  Wallingford,  on  the  fol- 
lowing evening  at  a  few  minutes  before  nine,  turned 
into  the  house  on  Forty-second  Street,  they  observed 
a  sturdy  figure  helping  a  very  much  inebriated  man 
up  the  stone  steps  just  before  them,  but  as  the  sturdy 
figure  inserted  a  latch-key  in  the  door  and  opened  it 
with  one  hand  while  supporting  his  companion  with 
the  other  arm,  the  incident  was  not  one  to  excite 
comment.  Just  inside  the  door  the  inebriated  man 
tried  to  raise  a  disturbance,  which  was  promptly 
squelched  by  the  sturdy  gentleman,  who  held  his 
charge  firmly  in  a  bearlike  grip  while  Mr.  Teller  and 
Mr.  Wallingford  passed  around  them  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  casting  smiling  glances  down  at  the  face 
of  the  perpetually-worried  landlady,  who  had  come 
to  the  parlor  door  to  wonder  what  she  ought  to  do 
about  it. 

In  the  second  floor  back  room  Mr.  Phelps  and  Mr. 
Badger  already  awaited  them.  Mr.  Badger's  greet- 


THE    DOUBLE    CROSS  93 

ing  to  Larry  was  the  ordinary  greeting  of  one  man 
who  had  seen  the  other  within  the  hour;  his  greet- 
ing to  Mr.  Wallingford  was  most  cordial  and  ac- 
companied by  the  merest  shade  of  a  wink.  Mr. 
Phelps,  on  the  other  hand,  was  most  grim.  While 
not  denying  the  semblance  of  courtesy  one  gentle- 
man should  bestow  upon  another,  he  nevertheless 
gave  Mr.  Wallingford  distinctly  to  understand  by 
his  bearing  that  he  was  out  for  Mr.  Wallingford's 
financial  blood,  and  after  the  coldest  of  greetings  he 
asked  gruffly : 

"Did  you  bring  cards?" 

"One  dollar's  worth,"  said  Wallingford,  tossing 
four  packs  upon  the  table.  "Ordinary  drug-store 
cards,  bought  at  the  corner." 

"You  see  them  bought,  Larry?"  inquired  Phelps. 

"They're  all  right,  Phelps,"  Mr.  Teller  assured 
him. 

"Good,"  said  Mr.  Phelps.  "Then  we  might  just 
as  well  get  to  work  right  away,"  and  from  his  pocket 
he  drew  a  fat  wallet  out  of  which  he  counted  five 
thousand  dollars,  mostly  in  bills  of  large  denomina- 
tion. 

In  the  chair  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  little  table 
Wallingford  sat  down  with  equal  grimness,  and 


94  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

produced  an  equal  amount  of  money  in  similar  de- 
nominations. 

"I  don't  suppose  we  need  chips,"  said  Phelps. 
"The  game  may  not  last  over  a  couple  of  deals. 
Make  it  table  stakes,  loser  of  each  hand  to  deal  the 
next  one." 

They  opened  a  pack  of  cards  and  cut  for  the  deal, 
which  fell  to  Wallingford,  and  they  began  with  a 
mutual  five-dollar  ante.  Upon  the  turn  card  of  the 
first  deal  each  placed  another  five.  Upon  the  third 
card,  Phelps,  being  high,  shoved  forward  a  five- 
dollar  bill,  which  Wallingford  promptly  raised  with 
fifty.  Scarcely  glancing  at  his  hole-card,  Phelps  let 
him  take  the  pot,  and  it  became  Phelps'  deal. 

It  was  a  peculiar  game,  in  that  Phelps  kept  the 
deal  from  then  on,  betting  mildly  until  Wallingford 
raised,  in  which  case  Wallingford  was  allowed  to 
take  down  the  money.  By  this  means  Wallingford 
steadily  won,  but  in  such  small  amounts  that  Mr. 
Phelps  could  have  kept  playing  for  hours  on  his 
five  thousand  dollars  in  spite  of  the  annoyance  of 
maudlin  quarreling  from  the  next  room.  It  was 
not  necessary  to  enter  such  a  long  test  of  endurance 
to  gain  mere  time,  however,  for  in  less  than  a  half- 
hour  the  door  suddenly  burst  open,  its  latch-bar  los- 


THE    DOUBLE    CROSS  95 

ing  its  screws  with  suspicious  ease,  and  a  gaunt  but 
muscular-looking  individual  with  a  down-drooping 
mustache  strode  in  upon  them,  displaying  a  large 
shining  badge  pinned  on  his  vest  underneath  his 
coat. 

"Every  man  keep  his  seat !"  commanded  this  ap- 
parition. "The  place  is  pinched  as  a  gambling 
joint." 

Mr.  Phelps  made  a  grab  for  the  money  on  the 
table. 

"Drop  that !"  said  the  new-comer,  making  a  mo- 
tion toward  his  hip  pocket,  and  Mr.  Phelps  subsided 
in  his  chair. 

The  others  had  posed  themselves  most  dramat- 
ically, and  now  they  sat  in  motionless  but  trembling 
obedience  to  the  law,  while  the  man  with  the  tin 
badge  produced  from  his  pocket  a  little  black  bag 
into  which  he  stuffed  the  cards  and  all  the  money 
on  the  table. 

"It's  a  frame-up!"  shouted  Mr.  Phelps. 

Loud  voices  and  the  overturning  of  chairs  from 
the  room  just  ahead  interrupted  them  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  not  only  Mr.  Badger  and  Mr.  Teller  and 
Mr.  Phelps  looked  annoyed,  but  the  man  with  the 
shining  badge  glanced  apprehensively  in  that  di- 


96  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

rection,  especially  as,  added  to  the  sudden  uproar, 
there  was  the  unmistakable  clang  of  a  patrol-wagon 
in  the  street. 

Simultaneously  with  this  there  bounded  into  the 
room  a  large  gentleman  with  a  red  face  and  a  husky 
voice,  who  whipped  a  revolver  from  his  pocket  the 
minute  he  passed  the  threshold  and  leveled  it  at 
the  man  with  the  badge,  while  all  the  others  sprang 
from  their  chairs. 

"Hands  up!"  said  he,  in  a  hurried  but  business- 
like manner,  himself  apparently  annoyed  with  and 
apprehensive  of  the  adjoining  disturbance  and  the 
clanging  in  the  street.  "This  is  a  sure-enough  pinch, 
but  it  ain't  for  gambling,  you  can  bet  your  sweet  life! 
You're  all  pulled  for  a  bunch  of  cheap  sure-thing 
experts,  but  this  guy  has  got  the  lock-step  comin'  to 
him  for  impersonating  an  officer.  You've  played 
that  gag  too  long,  Dan  Blazer.  Give  me  that  evi- 
dence!" and  he  snatched  the  black  bag  from  the 
hand  of  the  man  with  the  badge. 

Short-Card  Larry,  standing  near  what  was  ap- 
parently a  closet  door,  now  took  his  cue  and  threw 
it  open,  and,  grabbing  Wallingford  by  the  arm,  sud- 
denly pulled  him  forward.  "This  is  the  real  thing," 
he  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "We've  got  to  make 


THE   DOUBLE   CROSS  97 

a  get-away  or  go  up.  They're  fierce  on  us  here  if 
the  pinch  once  comes." 

"Hello,  boys,"  broke  in  a  third  new  voice,  and 
then  the  real  shock  came.  The  third  new  voice  was 
not  in  the  play  at  all,  and  the  consternation  it 
wrought  was  more  than  ludicrous. 

Wallingford,  drawing  back  for  a  moment,  was 
nearly  knocked  off  his  feet  by  fat  Badger  Billy's 
dashing  past  him  through  that  door  to  the  back  stair- 
way, closely  followed  by  Mr.  Phelps,  and  Mr.  Phelps 
was  trailed  almost  as  closely  by  the  gaunt  man  of 
the  badge.  Glancing  toward  the  door,  Mr.  Walling- 
ford smiled  beatifically.  The  cause  of  all  this  sud- 
den exodus  was  huge  Harvey  Willis,  in  his  blue  suit 
and  brass  buttons  and  helmet,  with  a  club  in  his 
hand,  who,  making  one  dive  for  the  husky  red- faced 
man  as  he,  too,  was  bent  on  disappearing,  whanged 
him  against  the  wall  with  a  blow  upon  the  head  from 
his  billy ;  and  as  the  red-faced  man  fell  over,  Harvey 
grabbed  the  black  bag.  The  crash  of  a  breaking 
water-pitcher  from  the  adjoining  room,  the  shrill 
voice  of  a  protesting  and  frightened  landlady  as 
she  came  tearing  up  the  stairs,  and  the  clamor  of 
one  of  those  lightning-collected  mobs  in  front  of  the 
house  around  the  patrol-wagon,  created  a  diversion 


98  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

in  the  midst  of  which  Harvey  Willis  started  out 
into  the  hall,  a  circumstance  which  gave  the  dazed 
red-faced  man  an  opportunity  to  stagger  down  the 
back  stairway  and  out  through  the  alley  after  his 
companions,  whom  Wallingford  had  already  fol- 
lowed. They  were  not  waiting  for  him,  by  any 
means,  but  this  time  were  genuinely  interested  in 
getting  away  from  the  law,  each  man  darkly  sus- 
picious of  all  the  others,  and  Wallingford,  alone, 
serene  in  mind. 

In  the  hall,  Willis,  with  a  grin,  thrust  the  black 
bag  into  his  big  pocket,  and  turned  his  attention  to 
the  terrified  landlady  and  his  brother  officer  of  the 
wagon,  who  was  just  then  mounting  the  stairs. 

"Case  of  plain  coke  jag,"  he  explained,  and  burst 
into  the  noisy  room,  from  which  the  two  presently 
emerged  with  the  shrieking  and  inebriated  man  who 
had  been  brought  up-stairs  but  a  short  while  before. 

In  Wallingford's  room  that  night,  Blackie  Daw 
was  just  starting  for  Boston  when  Harvey  Willis, 
now  off  duty,  came  up  with  the  little  black  bag, 
which  he  dropped  upon  the  table,  sitting  down  in 
one  of  the  big  chairs  and  laughing  hugely. 

"Mr.  Daw,  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Willis,  a  friend 


THE    DOUBLE    CROSS  99 

of  mine  from  Filmore,"  said  Wallingford.  "Order 
a  drink,  Daw." 

As  he  spoke,  he  untied  the  bag,  and,  taking  its 
lower  corners,  sifted  the  mixture  of  cards  and 
greenbacks  upon  the  table.  Daw,  in  the  act  of  shak- 
ing hands,  stopped  with  gaping  jaws. 

"What  in  Moses  is  that?"  he  asked. 

"Merely  a  little  contribution  from  your  Broad- 
way friends,"  Wallingford  explained  with  a  chuckle. 
"Harvey,  what  do  I  owe  out  of  this?" 

"Well,"  said  Harvey,  sitting  down  again  and 
naming  over  the  cast  of  characters  on  his  fingers, 
"there's  seven  dollars  for  the  room,  and  the  tenner 
I  gave  Sawyer  to  go  down  on  Park  Row  and  hunt 
up  a  coke  jag.  Sawyer  gets  fifty.  We  ought  to 
slip  a  twenty  to  the  wagon-man.  Sawyer  will  have 
to  pay  about  a  ten-case  note  for  broken  furniture, 
and  I  suppose  you'll  want  to  pay  this  poor  coke  dip's 
fine.  That's  all,  except  me." 

"Ninety-seven  dollars,  besides  the  fine,"  said 
Wallingford,  counting  it  up.  "Suppose  we  say  a 
hundred  and  fifty  to  cover  all  expenses,  and  about 
three  hundred  and  fifty  for  you.  How  would  that 
do?" 


ioo  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Fine!"  agreed  Harvey.  "Stay  right  here  and 
keep  me  busy  at  the  price." 

"Not  me,"  said  Wallingford  warmly.    "I  only  did 

J  this  because  I  was  peevish.    I  don't  like  this  kind  of 

money.    It  may  not  be  honest  money.    I  don't  know 

how  Phelps  and  Banting  and  Teller  got  this  money." 

Blackie  Daw  came  solemnly  over  and  shook  hands 
with  him. 

"Stay  amongst  our  midst,  J.  Rufus,"  he  pleaded. 
"We  need  an  infusion  of  live  ones  on  Broadway. 
Our  best  workers  have  grown  jaded  and  effete,  and 
our  reputation  is  suffering.  Stay,  oh,  stay!" 

"No,"  refused  J.  Rufus  positively.  "I  don't  want 
to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  crooks !" 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN    WHICH    J.    RUFUS    HEARS    OF    SOME    EGYPTIANS 
WORTH  SPOILING 

IT  was  in  a  spirit  of  considerable  loneliness  that 
Wallingford  came  back  from  seeing  Blackie 
Daw  to  the  midnight  train,  for  he  had  grown  to 
like  Blackie  very  well  indeed.  Moreover,  his  friend 
from  Georgia  was  gone,  and  quite  disconsolate,  for 
him,  he  stood  in  front  of  the  hotel  wondering  about 
his  next  move.  Fate  sent  him  a  cab,  from  which 
popped  a  miniature  edition  of  the  man  from  Georgia. 
The  new-comer,  who  had  not  waited  for  the  cab 
door  to  be  opened  for  him,  immediately  offered  to 
bet  his  driver  the  price  of  the  fare  that  the  horse 
would  eat  bananas.  He  was  a  small,  clean,  elderly 
gentleman,  of  silvery-white  hair  and  mus-tache,  who 
must  have  been  near  sixty,  but  who  possessed,  tem- 
porarily at  least,  the  youth  and  spirits  of  thirty; 
and  he  was  one  of  that  sort  of  looking  men  to  whom 
one  instinctively  gives  a  title. 

"Can't  take  a  chance,  Governor,"  said  the  driver, 
101 


102  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

grinning.  "I  might  as  well  go  jump  off  the  dock  as 
go  back  to  the  stand  without  them  four  dollars.  I'm 
in  bad,  anyhow." 

"I'll  bet  you  the  tip,  then,"  offered  the  very-much- 
alive  elderly  gentleman,  flourishing  a  five-dollar  bill. 

"All  right,"  agreed  the  driver,  eying  the  money. 
"Nothing  or  two  dollars." 

"No,  you  don't !  Not  with  Silas  Fox,  you  don't !" 
promptly  disputed  that  gentleman.  "First  comes  out 
of  the  dollar  change  two  bits  for  bananas,  and  then 
the  bet  is  nothing  or  a  dollar  and  a  half  that  your 
horse'll  eat  'em.  Why,  any  horse'll  eat  bananas," 
he  added,  turning  suddenly  to  Wallingford.  With 
the  habit  of  shrewdness  he  paused  for  a  thorough 
inspection  of  J.  Rufus,  whose  bigness  and  good 
grooming  and  jovial  pinkness  of  countenance  were 
so  satisfactory  that  Mr.  Fox  promptly  made  up  his 
mind  the  young  man  could  safely  be  counted  as  one 
of  the  pleasures  of  existence. 

"I'll  bet  you  this  horse'll  eat  bananas,"  he  offered. 

"I'm  not  acquainted  with  the  horse,"  objected 
Wallingford,  with  no  more  than  reasonable  caution. 
"I  don't  even  know  its  name.  What  do  you  want  to 
bet?" 

"Anything  from  a  drink  to  a  hundred  dollars." 


SPOILING   THE   EGYPTIANS        103 

J.  Rufus  threw  back  his  head  and  chuckled  in  a 
most  infectious  manner,  his  broad  shoulders  shaking 
and  his  big  chest  heaving. 

"I'll  take  you  for  the  drink,"  he  agreed. 

Two  strapping  big  fellows  in  regulation  khaki 
came  striding  past  the  hotel,  and  Mr.  Fox  imme- 
diately hailed  them. 

"Here,  you  boys,"  he  commanded,  with  a  friendly 
assurance  born  of  the  feeling  that  to-night  all  men 
were  brothers;  "you  fellows  walk  across  the  street 
there  and  get  me  a  quarter's  worth  of  real  ripe 
bananas." 

The  soldiers  stopped,  perplexed,  but  only  for  an 
instant.  The  driver  of  the  cab  was  grinning,  the 
door-man  of  the  hotel  was  grinning,  the  prosperous 
young  man  by  the  curb  was  grinning,  and  the  well- 
dined  and  wined  elderly  gentleman  quite  evidently 
expected  nothing  in  this  world  but  friendly  com- 
plaisance. 

"All  right,  Senator,"  acquiesced  the  boys  in  khaki, 
themselves  catching  the  grinning  contagion;  and 
quite  cheerfully  they  accepted  a  quarter,  wheeled 
abreast,  marched  over  to  the  fruit  stand,  bought 
the  ripest  bananas  on  sale,  wheeled,  and  marched 
back. 


104  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Selecting  the  choicest  one  with  great  gravity  and 
care,  Mr.  Silas  Fox  peeled  it  and  prepared  for  the 
great  test.  The  driver  leaned  forward  interestedly ; 
the  two  in  khaki  gathered  close  behind;  the  large 
young  man  chuckled  as  he  watched ;  the  horse  poked 
forward  his  nose  gingerly,  then  sniffed — then  turned 
slowly  away ! 

Mr.  Fox  was  shocked.  He  caught  that  horse 
gently  by  the  opposite  jaw,  and  drew  the  head  to- 
ward him.  This  time  the  horse  did  not  even  sniff. 
It  shook  its  head,  and,  being  further  urged,  jerked 
away  so  decidedly  that  it  drew  its  tormentor  off  the 
curb,  and  he  would  have  fallen  had  not  Wallingford 
caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"I  win,"  declared  the  driver  with  relief,  gather- 
ing up  his  lines. 

"Not  yet,"  denied  Mr.  Fox,  and  stepping  forward 
he  put  his  arm  around  the  horse's  neck  and  tried  to 
force  the  banana  into  its  mouth. 

This  time  the  horse  was  so  vigorous  in  its  objec- 
tion that  the  man  came  near  being  trampled  under- 
foot, and  it  was  only  on  the  unanimous  vote  of  the 
big  man  and  the  two  in  khaki  that  he  profanely  gave 
up  the  attempt. 

"Not  that  I  mind  losing  the  bet,"  announced  Mr. 


SPOILING    THE    EGYPTIANS        105 

Fox  in  apology,  "but  I'm  disappointed  in  the  be 
damned  horse.  That  horse  loves  bananas  and  I  know 
it,  but  he's  just  stubborn.  Here's  your  money,"  and 
he  gave  the  driver  his  five-fifty ;  "and  here's  the  rest 
of  the  bananas.  When  you  get  back  to  the  barn  you 
try  that  horse  and  see  if  he  won't  eat  'em,  after  he's 
cooled  down  and  in  his  stall." 

"All  right,"  laughed  the  driver,  and  started  away. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  he  was  peeling  one  of  the 
bananas.  The  loser  looked  after  the  horse  reluc- 
tantly, and  sighed  in  finality. 

"Come  on,  young  man,  let's  go  get  that  drink,"  he 
said. 

Delighted  to  have  found  company  of  happy  spirit, 
Wallingford  promptly  turned  with  the  colonel  into 
the  hotel  bar. 

"Can  you  beat  it?"  asked  one  big  soldier  of  the 
other  as  both  Jooked  after  the  departing  couple  in 
pleased  wonder. 

At  about  the  same  second  the  new  combination 
was  falling  eagerly  and  vigorously  into  conversation 
upon  twelve  topics  at  once. 

"You  can't  do  anything  without  you  have  a  pull," 
was  Silas  Fox's  fallacious  theory  of  life,  as  summed 
up  in  the  intimate  friendship  of  the  second  bottle. 


io6  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"That's  why  I  left  New  Jersey.  I  had  a  National 
Building  and  Loan  Association  organized  down 
there  that  would  have  been  a  public  benefactor  and 
a  private  joy ;  in  business  less  than  six  months,  and 
already  nine  hundred  honest  working-men  paying 
in  their  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  week ;  eleven  hundred 
and  fifty  a  week  for  us  to  handle,  and  the  amount 
growing  every  month." 

"That's  a  pretty  good  start,"  commented  J.  Rufus, 
considering  the  matter  carefully  as  he  eyed  the 
stream  of  ascending  bubbles  in  his  hollow-stemmed 
glass.  "No  matter  what  business  you're  in,  if  you 
have  a  package  of  clean,  new,  fresh  dollars  every 
week  to  handle,  some  of  it  is  bound  to  settle  to  the 
bottom;  but  there  mustn't  be  too  many  to  swallow 
the  settlings." 

"Six  of  us  on  the  inside,"  mused  the  other.  "Doc 
Turner,  who  sells  real  estate  only  to  people  who 
can't  pay  for  it;  Ebenezer  Squinch,  a  lawyer  that 
makes  a  specialty  of  widows  and  orphans  and  dam- 
age claims;  Tom  Fester,  who  runs  the  nicest  little 
chattel-mortgage  company  that  ever  collected  a  life 
income  from  a  five-dollar  bill ;  Andy  Grout,  who  ftas 
been  conducting  a  prosperous  instalment  business 
for  ten  years  on  the  same  old  stock  of  furniture; 


SPOILING    THE    EGYPTIANS        107 

and  Jim  Christmas,  who  came  in  from  the  farm  ten 
years  ago  to  become  a  barber,  shaving  nothing  but 
notes." 

Young  Wallingford  sat  lost  in  admiration. 

"What  a  lovely  bunch  of  citizens  to  train  a  grow- 
ing young  dollar ;  to  teach  it  to  jump  through  hoops 
and  lay  down  and  roll  over,"  he  declared.  "And  I 
suppose  you  were  in  a  similar  line,  Judge?"  he  ven- 
tured. 

"Nothing  like  it,"  denied  the  judge  emphatically. 
"I  was  in  a  decent,  respectable  loan  business.  Col- 
lateral loans  were  my  specialty." 

"I  see,"  said  J.  Rufus,  chuckling.  "All  mankind 
were  not  your  brothers,  exactly,  but  your  brothers' 
children." 

"Making  me  the  universal  uncle,  yes,"  admitted 
Mr.  Fox,  then  he  suddenly  puffed  up  with  pride  in 
his  achievements.  "And  I  do  say,"  he  boasted,  "that 
I  could  give  any  Jew  cards  and  spades  at  the  game 
and  still  beat  him  out  on  points.  I  reckon  I  invented 
big  casino,  little  casino  and  the  four  aces  in  the 
pawn  brokerage  business.  Let  alone  my  gage  of 
the  least  a  man  would  take,  I  had  it  fixed  so  that 
they  could  slip  into  my  place  by  the  front  door,  from 
the  drug-store  on  one  side,  from  the  junk-yard  on 


io8  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

the  other,  from  the  saloon  across  the  alley  in  the 
rear,  and  down-stairs,  from  the  hall  leading  to  Doc 
Turner's  office." 

Lost  in  twinkling-eyed  admiration  of  his  own 
cleverness  he  lapsed  into  silence,  but  J.  Rufus,  eager 
for  information,  aroused  him. 

"But  why  did  you  blow  the  easy  little  new  com- 
pany ?"  he  wanted  to  know.  "I  could  understand  it 
if  you  had  been  running  a  local  building-loan  com- 
pany, for  in  that  the  only  salaried  officer  is  the  sec- 
retary, who  gets  fifty  cents  a  year,  and  the  happy 
home-builders  pile  up  double  compound  interest  for 
the  wise  members  who  rent;  but  with  a  national 
company  it's  different.  A  national  building-loan 
company's  business  is  to  collect  money  to  juggle 
with,  for  the  exclusive  benefit  of  the  officers." 

"You're  a  bright  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Fox  ad- 
miringly. "But  the  business  was  such  a  cinch  it 
began  to  get  crowded,  and  so  the  lawmakers,  who 
were  mostly  stock-holders  in  the  three  biggest  com- 
panies, had  a  spasm  of  virtue,  and  passed  such 
stringent  laws  for  the  protection  of  poor  investors 
that  no  new  company  could  do  any  business.  We 
tried  to  buy  a  pull  but  it  was  no  use;  there  wasn't 
pull  enough  to  go  round ;  so  I'm  going  to  retire  and 


SPOILING    THE    EGYPTIANS        109 

enjoy  myself.  This  country's  getting  too  corrupt 
to  do  business  in,"  and  Mr.  Fox  relapsed  into  sor- 
rowful silence  over  the  degeneracy  of  the  times. 

When  his  sorrow  had  become  grief — midway  of 
another  bottle — a  house  detective  prevailed  upon 
him  to  go  to  bed,  leaving  young  Wallingford  to 
loneliness  and  to  thought — also  to  settle  the  bill. 
This,  however,  he  did  quite  willingly.  The  evening 
had  been  worth  much  in  an  educational  way,  and, 
moreover,  it  had  suggested  vast,  immediate  possi- 
bilities. These  possibilities  might  have  remained 
vague  and  formless — mere  food  for  idle  musing — 
had  it  not  been  for  one  important  circumstance: 
while  the  waiter  was  making  change  he  picked  some 
folded  papers  from  the  floor  and  laid  them  at  Wall- 
ingford's  hand.  Opened,  this  packet  of  loose  leaves 
proved  to  be  a  list  of  several  hundred  names  and 
addresses.  There  could  be  no  riddle  whatever  about 
this  document ;  it  was  quite  obviously  a  membership 
roster  of  the  defunct  building-loan  association. 

"The  judge  ought  to  have  a  duplicate  of  this  list ; 
a  single  copy's  so  easy  to  lose,"  mused  Wallingford 
with  a  grin ;  so,  out  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  he 
sat  up  in  his  room  until  very  late  indeed,  copying 
those  pages  with  great  care.  When  he  sent  the 


no  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

original  to  Mr.  Fox's  room  in  the  morning,  however, 
he  very  carelessly  omitted  to  send  the  duplicate,  and, 
indeed,  omitted  to  think  of  remedying  the  omission 
until  after  Mr.  Fox  had  left  the  hotel  for  good. 

Oh,  well,  a  list  of  that  sort  was  a  handy  thing 
for  anybody  to  have  around.  The  names  and  ad- 
dresses of  nine  hundred  people  naive  enough  to  pay 
a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  week  to  a  concern  of  whose 
standing  they  knew  absolutely  nothing,  was  a  really 
valuable  curiosity  indeed.  It  was  pleasant  to  think 
upon,  in  a  speculative  way. 

Another  inspiring  thought  was  the  vision  of  Doc 
Turner  and  Ebenezer  Squinch  and  Tom  Fester  and 
Andy  Grout  and  Jim  Christmas,  with  plenty  of 
money  to  invest  in  a  dubious  enterprise.  It  seemed 
to  be  a  call  to  arms.  It  would  be  a  noble  and  a  com- 
mendable thing  to  spoil  those  Egyptians;  to  smite 
them  hip  and  thigh ! 


CHAPTER  X 

INTRODUCING  A  NOVEL  MEANS  OF  EATING  CAKE  AND 
HAVING  IT   TOO 

DOC  TURNER  and  Ebenezer  Squinch  and 
Tom  Fester,  all  doing  business  on  the  second 
floor  of  the  old  Turner  building,  were  thrown  into 
a  fever  of  curiosity  by  the  tall,  healthy,  jovial  young 
man  with  the  great  breadth  of  white-waistcoated 
chest,  who  had  rented  the  front  suite  of  offices  on 
their  floor.  His  rooms  he  fitted  up  regardless  of 
expense,  and  he  immediately  hired  an  office-boy,  a 
secretary  and  two  stenographers,  all  of  whom  were 
conspicuously  idle.  Doc  Turner,  who  had  a  long, 
thin  nose  with  a  bluish  tip,  as  if  it  had  been  case- 
tempered  for  boring  purposes,  was  the  first  to  scrape 
acquaintance  with  the  jovial  young  gentleman,  but 
was  chagrined  to  find  that  though  Mr.  Wallingford 
was  most  democratic  and  easily  approachable,  still 
he  was  most  evasive  about  his  business.  Nor  could 
any  of  his  office  force  be  "pumped." 
in 


ii2  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"The  People's  Mutual  Bond  and  Loan  Company" 
was  the  name  which  a  sign  painter,  after  a  few  days, 
blocked  out  upon  the  glass  doors,  but  the  mere  name 
was  only  a  whet  to  the  aggravated  appetites  of  the 
other  tenants.  Turner  and  Fester  and  Squinch  were 
in  the  latter's  office,  discussing  the  mystery  with 
some  trace  of  irritation,  when  the  source  of  it 
walked  in  upon  them. 

"I'm  glad  to  find  you  all  together,"  said  young 
Wallingford  breezily,  coming  at  once  to  the  point 
of  his  visit.  "I  understand  that  you  gentlemen  were 
once  a  part  of  the  directorate  of  a  national  building 
and  loan  company  which  suspended  business." 

Ebenezer  Squinch,  taking  the  chair  by  virtue  of 
his  being  already  seated  with  his  long  legs  elevated 
upon  his  own  desk,  craned  forward  his  head  upon 
an  absurdly  slender  neck,  which  much  resembled 
that  of  a  warty  squash,  placed  the  tips  of  his  wrin- 
kled fingers  together  and  gazed  across  them  at  Wall- 
ingford quite  judicially. 

"Suppose  we  were  to  admit  that  fact?"  he  queried, 
in  non-committal  habit. 

"I  am  informed  that  you  had  a  membership  of 
some  nine  hundred  when  you  suspended  business," 


EATING   CAKE   AND    HAVING    IT     113 

Wallingford  went  on,  "and  among  your  effects  you 
have  doubtless  retained  a  list  of  that  membership." 

"Doubtless,"  assented  Lawyer  Squinch  after  a 
thoughtful  pause,  deciding  that  he  might,  at  least 
partially,  admit  that  much. 

"What  will  you  take  for  that  list,  or  a  copy  of 
it?"  went  on  Mr.  Wallingford. 

Mr.  Turner,  Mr.  Squinch  and  Mr.  Fester  looked 
at  one  another  in  turn.  In  the  mind  of  each  gentle- 
man there  instantly  sprang  a  conjecture,  not  as  to 
the  actual  value  of  that  list,  but  as  to  how  much 
money  young  Wallingford  had  at  his  command. 
Both  Mr.  Fester  and  Mr.  Turner  sealing  their 
mouths  tightly,  Mr.  Fester  straightly  and  Mr. 
Turner  pursily,  looked  to  Mr.  Squinch  for  an  ade- 
quate reply,  knowing  quite  well  that  their  former 
partner  would  do  nothing  ill-considered. 

"M-m-m-m-m-m-m-m,"  nasally  hesitated  Mr. 
Squinch  after  long  cogitation ;  "this  list,  Mr.  Wall- 
ingford, is  very  valuable  indeed,  and  I  am  quite  sure 
that  none  of  us  here  would  think  of  setting  a  price  on 
it  until  we  had  called  into  consultation  our  other 
former  directors,  Mr.  Grout  and  Mr.  Christmas." 

"Let  me  know  as  soon  as  you  can,  gentlemen," 


ii4  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

said  Mr.  Wallingford.  "I  would  like  a  price  by  to- 
morrow afternoon  at  two  o'clock,  at  least." 

Another  long  pause. 

"I  think,"  stated  Mr.  Squinch,  as  deliberately  and 
as  carefully  as  if  he  were  announcing  a  supreme 
court  decision — "I  think  that  we  may  promise  an 
answer  by  to-morrow." 

They  were  all  silent,  very  silent,  as  Mr.  Wall- 
ingford walked  out,  but  the  moment  they  heard 
his  own  door  close  behind  him  conjecture  be- 
gan. 

"I  wonder  how  much  money  he's  got,"  specu- 
lated fish-white  Doc  Turner,  rubbing  his  claw-like 
hands  softly  together. 

"He's  stopping  at  the  Tel  ford  Hotel  and  occupies 
two  of  the  best  rooms  in  the  house,"  said  blocky 
Mr.  Fester,  he  of  the  bone-hard  countenance  and 
the  straight  gash  where  his  lips  ought  to  be. 

"He  handed  me  a  hundred-dollar  bill  to  take  the 
change  out  of  for  the  first  month's  rent  in  advance," 
supplemented  Doc  Turner,  who  was  manager  of  the 
Turner  block. 

"He  wears  very  large  diamonds,  I  notice,"  ob- 
served Squinch.  "I  imagine,  gentlemen,  that  he 
might  be  willing  to  pay  quite  two  thousand  dollars." 


EATING   CAKE   AND    HAVING   IT     115 

"He's  young,"  assented  Mr.  Turner,  warming  his 
hands  over  the  thought. 

"And  reckless,"  added  Mr.  Fester,  with  a  wooden 
appreciation  that  was  his  nearest  approach  to  a 
smile. 

Their  estimate  of  the  youth  and  recklessness  of 
the  lamb-like  Mr.  Wallingford  was  such  that  they 
mutually  paused  to  muse  upon  it.  though  not  at  all 
unpleasantly. 

"Suppose  that  we  say  twenty-five  hundred,"  re- 
sumed Mr.  Squinch.  "That  will  give  each  of  the  five 
of  us  five  hundred  dollars  apiece.  At  that  rate  I'd 
venture  to  speak  for  both  Grout  and  Christmas." 

"We  three  have  a  majority  vote,"  suggested  Doc 
Turner.  "However,  it's  easy  enough  to  see  them." 

"Need  we  do  so  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Squinch,  in  slow 
thought.  "We  might — "  and  then  he  paused,  struck 
by  a  sudden  idea,  and  added  hastily :  "Oh,  of  course, 
we'll  have  to  give  them  a  voice  in  the  matter.  I'll 
see  them  to-night." 

"All  right,"  assented  Doc  Turner,  rising  with 
alacrity  and  looking  at  his  watch.  "By  the  way,  I 
have  to  see  a  man.  I  pretty  near  overlooked  it." 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Mr.  Fester,  heaving 
himself  up  ponderously  and  putting  on  the  hat  which 


n6  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

should  have  been  square,  "I  have  to  foreclose  a 
mortgage  this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Squinch  also  rose.  It  had  occurred  to  all 
three  of  them  simultaneously  to  go  privately  to  the 
two  remaining  members  and  buy  out  their  interest 
in  the  list  for  the  least  possible  money. 

J.  Rufus  found  the  full  board  in  session,  how- 
ever, when  he  walked  into  Mr.  Squinch's  office  on 
the  following  afternoon.  Mr.  Grout  was  a  loose- 
skinned  man  of  endless  down-drooping  lines,  the 
corners  of  his  eyelids  running  down  past  his  cheek- 
bones, the  corners  of  his  nose  running  down  past 
his  mouth,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  running  down 
past  his  chin.  Mr.  Christmas  had  over-long,  rusty- 
gray  hair,  bulbous  red  ears,  and  an  appalling  out- 
burst of  scarlet  veins  netted  upon  his  copper-red 
countenance.  Notwithstanding  their  vast  physical 
differences,  however,  Wallingford  reflected  that  he 
had  never  seen  five  men  who,  after  all,  looked  more 
alike.  And  why  not,  since  they  were  all  of  one 
mind? 

By  way  of  illustrating  the  point,  Mr.  Grout  and 
Mr.  Christmas,  finding  that  the  list  in  question  had 
some  value,  and  knowing  well  their  former  partners, 
had  steadfastly  refused  to  sell,  and  the  five  of  them, 


EATING   CAKE    AND    HAVING    IT     117 

meeting  upon  the  common  ground  of  self-interest, 
had  agreed  to  one  thing — that  they  would  ask  five 
thousand  dollars  for  the  list,  and  take  what  they 
could  get. 

When  the  price  was  named  to  him,  Mr.  Walling- 
ford  merely  chuckled,  and  observed,  as  he  turned 
toward  the  door : 

"You  are  mistaken,  gentlemen.  I  did  not  want  to 
buy  out  your  individual  businesses.  I  am  willing  to 
give  you  one  thousand  dollars  in  stock  of  my  com- 
pany, which  will  be  two  shares  each." 

The  gentlemen  could  not  think  of  that.  It  was 
preposterous.  They  would  not  consider  any  other 
than  a  cash  offer  to  begin  with,  nor  less  than  twenty- 
five  hundred  to  end  with. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  J.  Rufus ;  "I  can  do  with- 
out your  list,"  which  was  no  matter  for  wonder, 
since  he  had  a  duplicate  of  it  in  his  desk  at  that  very 
moment. 

Henry  Smalzer  was  the  first  man  on  that  defunct 
building  and  loan  company  list,  and  him  Walling- 
ford  went  to  see.  He  found  Mr.  Smalzer  in  a  little 
shoe  repair  shop,  with  a  shoe  upturned  on  his  knee 
and  held  firmly  in  place  by  a  strap  passing  under 


ii8  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

his  foot.  Mr.  Smalzer  had  centrifugal  whiskers, 
and  long  habit  of  looking  up  without  rising  from 
his  work  had  given  his  eyes  a  coldly  suspicious  look. 
Moreover,  socialistic  argument,  in  red  type,  was 
hung  violently  upon  the  walls,  and  Mr.  Wallingford, 
being  a  close  student  of  the  psychological  moment 
and  man,  merely  had  a  loose  shoe-button  tightened. 

The  next  man  on  the  list  was  a  barber  with  his 
hair  parted  in  the  middle  and  hand-curled  in  front. 
In  the  shop  was  no  literature  but  the  Police  Gazette, 
and  in  the  showcase  were  six  brands  of  stogies  and 
one  brand  of  five-cent  cigars.  Here  Mr.  Walling- 
ford merely  purchased  a  shave,  reflecting  that  he 
could  put  a  good  germicide  on  his  face  when  he 
returned  to  the  hotel. 

He  began  to  grow  impatient  when  he  found  that 
his  third  man  kept  a  haberdashery,  but,  nevertheless, 
he  went  in.  A  clerk  of  the  pale-eyed,  lavender-tie 
type  was  gracing  the  front  counter,  but  in  the  rear, 
at  a  little  standing  desk  behind  a  neat  railing,  stood 
one  who  was  unmistakably  the  proprietor,  though 
he  wore  a  derby  hat  cocked  on  his  head  and  a  big 
cigar  cocked  in  the  opposite  corner  of  his  mouth. 
Tossed  on  the  back  part  of  the  desk  was  a  race-track 
badge,  and  the  man  was  studying  a  form  sheet ! 


EATING   CAKE   AND    HAVING   IT     119 

"Mr.  Merrill,  I  believe,"  said  Wallingford  con- 
fidently approaching  that  gentleman  and  carelessly 
laying  his  left  hand — the  one  with  the  three-carat 
diamond  upon  the  third  finger — negligently  upon  the 
rail. 

Mr.  Merrill's  keen,  dark-gray  eyes  rested  first 
upon  that  three-carat  ring,  then  upon  the  three-carat 
stone  in  Mr.  Wallingford's  carmine  cravat,  then 
upon  Mr.  Wallingford's  jovial  countenance  with  the 
multiplicity  of  smile  wrinkles  about  the  eyes,  and 
Mr.  Merrill  himself  smiled  involuntarily. 

"The  same,"  he  admitted. 

"Mr.  Merrill,"  propounded  Wallingford,  "how 
would  you  like  to  borrow  from  ten  dollars  to  five 
thousand,  for  four  years,  without  interest  and  with- 
out security  ?" 

Mr.  Merrill's  eyes  narrowed,  and  the  flesh  upon 
his  face  became  quite  firm. 

"Not  if  I  have  to  pay  money  for  it,"  he  an- 
nounced, and  the  conversation  would  have  ended 
right  there  had  it  not  been  for  Wallingford's  en- 
gaging personality,  a  personality  so  large  and  com- 
prehensive that  it  made  Mr.  Merrill  reflect  that, 
though  this  jovial  stranger  was  undoubtedly  engi- 
neering a  "skin  game,"  he  was  quite  evidently  "no 


120  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

piker,"  and  was,  therefore,  entitled  to  courteous 
consideration. 

"What  you  have  to  pay  won't  break  you,"  said 
Wallingford,  laughing,  and  presented  a  neatly  en- 
graved card  conveying  merely  the  name  of  The  Peo- 
ple's Mutual  Bond  and  Loan  Company,  the  fact  that 
it  was  incorporated  for  a  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
and  that  the  capital  was  all  paid  in.  "A  loan  bond," 
added  Mr.  Wallingford,  "costs  you  one  dollar,  and 
the  payments  thereafter  are  a  dollar  and  a  quarter 
a  week." 

Mr.  Merrill  nodded  as  he  looked  at  the  card. 

"I  see,"  said  he.  "It's  one  of  those  pleasant  little 
games,  I  suppose,  where  the  first  man  in  gets  the 
money  of  the  next  dozen,  and  the  last  five  thousand 
hold  the  bag." 

"I  knew  you'd  guess  wrong,"  said  Wallingford 
cheerfully.  "The  plan's  entirely  different.  Every- 
body gets  a  chance.  With  every  payment  you  sign 
a  loan  application  and  your  receipt  is  numbered,  giv- 
ing you  four  numbered  receipts  in  the  month.  Every 
month  one-fourth  of  the  loan  fund  is  taken  out  for 
a  grand  annual  distribution,  and  the  balance  is  dis- 
tributed in  monthly  loans." 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Merrill,  the  firmness  of  his 


EATING   CAKE    AND    HAVING    IT     121 

facial  muscles  relaxing  and  the  cold  look  in  his  eyes 
softening.  "A  lottery?  Now  I'm  listening." 

"Well,"  replied  Wallingford,  smiling,  "we  can't 
call  it  that,  you  know." 

"I'll  take  a  chance,"  said  Mr.  Merrill. 

Mr.  Wallingford,  with  rare  wisdom,  promptly 
stopped  argument  and  produced  a  beautifully 
printed  "bond"  from  his  pocket,  which  he  made  out 
in  Mr.  Merrill's  name. 

"I  might  add,"  said  J.  Rufus,  after  having  taken 
another  careful  inspection  of  Mr.  Merrill,  "that  you 
win  the  first  prize,  payable  in  the  shape  of  food  and 
drink.  I'd  like  to  have  you  take  dinner  with  me  at 
the  hotel  this  evening." 

Mr.  Merrill,  from  force  of  habit,  looked  at  his 
watch,  then  looked  at  Mr.  Wallingford  speculatively. 

"Don't  mind  if  I  do,"  said  he,  quite  well  satisfied 
that  the  dinner  would  be  pleasant. 

In  his  own  carpenter-shop  Wallingford  found  Mr. 
Albert  Wright  at  a  foot-power  circular-saw,  with  his 
hair  and  his  eyebrows  and  his  mustache  full  of  the 
same  fine,  white  wood  dust  that  covered  his  overalls 
and  jumper;  and  up  over  the  saw,  against  the  wall, 
was  tacked  the  time-yellowed  placard  of  a  long- 
since-eaten  strawberry  festival.  With  his  eyes  and 


122  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

his  mind  upon  this  placard,  Mr.  Wallingford  ex- 
plained his  new  boon  to  humanity :  the  great  oppor- 
tunity for  a  four-year  loan,  without  interest  or  se- 
curity, of  from  ten  dollars  to  five  thousand. 

"But  this  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  lottery, 
under  another  name,"  objected  Mr.  Wright,  .poising 
an  accusing  finger,  his  eyes,  too,  unconsciously  stray- 
ing to  the  strawberry  festival  placard. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  denied  Wallingford,  shocked 
beyond  measure.  "It  is  merely  a  mutual  benefit  as- 
sociation, where  a  large  number  of  people  pool  their 
small  sums  of  money  to  make  successive  large  ones. 
For  instance,  suppose  that  a  hundred  of  you  should 
band  together  to  put  in  one  dollar  a  week,  the  entire 
hundred  dollars  to  go  to  a  different  member  each 
week  ?  Each  one  would  be  merely  saving  up  a  hun- 
dred dollars,  but,  in  place  of  every  one  of  the  entire 
hundred  of  you  having  to  wait  a  hundred  weeks  to 
save  his  hundred  dollars,  one  of  you  would  be  saving 
it  in  one  week,  while  the  longest  man  in  would  only 
have  to  pay  the  hundred  weeks.  It  is  merely  a  de- 
vice, Mr.  Wright,  for  concentrating  the  savings  of 
a  large  number  of  people." 

Mr.  Wright  was  forcibly  impressed  with  Walling- 
ford's  illustration,  but,  being  a  very  bright  man,  he 


EATING   CAKE   ANP    HAVING   IT     123 

put  that  waving,  argumentative  finger  immediately 
upon  a  flaw. 

"Half  of  that  hundred  people  would  not  stay 
through  to  the  end,  and  somebody  would  get  left," 
he  objected,  well  pleased  with  himself. 

"Precisely,"  agreed  Mr.  Wallingford.  "That  is 
just  what  our  company  obviates.  Every  man  who 
drops  out  helps  the  man  who  stays  in,  by  not  having 
any  claim  upon  the  redemption  fund.  The  redemp- 
tion fund  saves  us  from  being  a  lottery.  When  you 
have  paid  in  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  your  bond 
matures  and  you  get  your  money  back." 

"Out  of—"  hesitated  Mr.  Wright,  greatly  per- 
plexed. 

"The  redemption  fund.  It  is  supplied  from  re- 
turned loans." 

Again  the  bright  Mr.  Wright  saw  a  radical  ob- 
jection. 

"Half  of  those  people  would  not  pay  back  their 
loans,"  said  he. 

"We  figure  that  a  certain  number  would  not  pay," 
admitted  Wallingford,  "but  there  would  be  a  larger 
proportion  than  you  think  who  would.  For  instance, 
you  would  pay  back  your  loan  at  the  end  of  four 
years,  wouldn't  you,  Mr.  Wright?" 


124  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Mr.  Wright  was  hastily  sure  of  it,  though  he  be- 
came thoughtful  immediately  thereafter. 

"So  would  a  large  majority  of  the  others,"  Wall- 
ingford  went  on.  "Honesty  is  more  prevalent  than 
you  would  imagine,  sir.  However,  all  our  losses 
from  this  source  will  be  made  up  by  lapsation.  Laps- 
ation!" 

Mr.  Wallingford  laid  emphatic  stress  upon  this 
vital  principle  and  fixed  Mr.  Wright's  mild  blue  eyes 
with  his  own  glittering  ones. 

"A  man  who  drops  a  payment  on  his  bond  gets 
nothing  back — that  is  a  part  of  his  contract — and 
the  steady  investor  reaps  the  benefit,  as  he  should. 
Suppose  you  hold  bond  number  ten ;  suppose  at  the 
time  of  maturity,  bonds  number  three,  five,  six, 
eight  and  nine  have  lapsed,  after  having  paid  in 
from  one-fourth  to  three- fourths  of  their  money; 
that  leaves  only  bonds  one,  two,  four,  seven  and  ten 
to  be  paid  from  the  redemption  fund.  I  don't  sup- 
pose you  understand  how  large  a  percentage  of  laps- 
ation there  is.  Let  me  show  you." 

From  his  pocket  Mr.  Wallingford  produced  a 
little  red  book,  showing  how  in  industrial  and  fra- 
ternal insurance  the  percentage  of  lapsation 
amounts  to  a  staggering  percentage,  thus  reducing 


EATING   CAKE   AND    HAVING   IT     125 

by  forfeited  capital  the  cost  of  insurance  in  those 
organizations. 

"So  you  see,  Mr.  Wright,"  concluded  Walling- 
ford,  snapping  shut  the  book  and  putting  it  in  his 
pocket,  "this,  in  the  end,  is  only  a  splendid  device 
for  saving  money  and  for  using  it  while  you  are 
saving  it." 

On  this  ground,  after  much  persuasion,  he  sold  a 
bond  to  the  careful  Mr.  Wright,  and  quit  work  for 
the  day,  well  satisfied  with  his  two  dollars'  commis- 
sion. At  a  fifteen-dollar  dinner  that  evening  Mr. 
Merrill  found  him  a  good  fellow,  and,  being  inter- 
ested not  only  in  Wallingford's  "lottery"  but  in 
Wallingford  himself,  gave  him  the  names  of  a  dozen 
likely  members.  Later  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  see 
some  of  them  himself  on  behalf  of  the  company. 

Two  days  after  that  Mr.  Wallingford  called  again 
on  his  careful  carpenter,  and  from  that  gentleman 
secured  a  personal  recommendation  to  a  few  friends 
of  Mr.  Wright's  particular  kind. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHEREIN  BLACKIE  DAW  PLAYS  A  BRIEF  CHARACTER 
BIT 

A  NDY  GROUT  came  into  Doc  Turner's  office 
/"\  in  a  troubled  mood,  every  down-drooping 
line  in  his  acid  countenance  absolutely  vertical. 

"We've  made  a  mistake,"  he  squeaked.  "This 
young  Wallingford  is  a  hustler,  and  he's  doing  some 
canvassing  himself.  In  the  past  week  he's  taken  at 
least  forty  members  for  his  loan  company,  and  every 
man  Jack  of  them  are  old  members  of  ours." 

Doc  Turner  began  rubbing  his  frosted  hands  to- 
gether at  a  furious  rate. 

"Squinch  has  sold  us  out !"  he  charged.  "He's  let 
Wallingford  copy  that  list  on  the  sly !" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Grout,  more  lugubri- 
ous than  ever.  "I  made  some  inquiries.  You  know, 
a  lot  of  these  fellows  are  customers  of  mine,  and  I 
find  that  he  just  happened  to  land  on  some  of  them 
in  the  first  place.  One  recommends  him  to  the 
126 


A    BRIEF    CHARACTER    BIT         127 

others,  just  as  we  got  them.  If  we  don't  sell  him  that 
list  right  away  he  won't  need  it." 

Together  they  went  to  Squinch  and  explained  the 
matter,  very  much  to  that  gentleman's  discomfiture 
and  even  agitation. 

"What's  his  plan  of  operation,  anyhow?"  com- 
plained Squinch. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  returned  Andy.  "I  found 
out  this  much,  though:  the  members  all  expect  to 
get  rich  as  soon  as  the  company  starts  operating." 

Mr.  Squinch  pounded  his  long  finger-tips  together 
for  some  time  while  he  pondered  the  matter. 

"It  might  be  worth  while  to  have  a  share  or  two 
of  stock  in  his  company,  merely  to  find  out  his  com- 
plete plan,"  he  sagely  concluded.  "If  he's  getting 
members  that  easy  it's  quite  evident  there  is  some 
good  money  to  be  made  on  the  inside." 

This  was  the  unanimous  opinion  of  the  entire  five 
members  of  the  board  of  directors,  and  as  each 
member  was  in  positive  pain  on  the  subject  of  "good 
money  on  the  inside,"  they  called  a  meeting  that  very 
afternoon  in  Mr.  Squinch's  office,  inviting  Mr 
Wallingford  to  attend,  which  he  did  with  inward 
alacrity  but  outward  indifference. 

"Mr.  Wallingford,"  said  Mr.  Squinch,  "we  have 


128  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

about  decided  to  accept  your  offer  for  our  list,  but 
before  doing  so  we  will  have  to  ask  you  to  explain 
to  us  the  organization  of  your  company." 

"Very  simple,"  Wallingford  told  them  cheerfully. 
"It's  incorporated  for  a  hundred  thousand  dollars; 
a  thousand  shares  of  a  hundred  dollars  each." 

"All  paid  in?"  Mr.  Squinch  wanted  to  know. 

"All  paid  in,"  replied  Mr.  Wallingford  calmly. 

"Indeed !"  commented  Mr.  Squinch.  "Who  owns 
the  stock?" 

"My  four  office  assistants  own  one  share  each  and 
I  own  the  balance." 

A  smile  pervaded  the  faces  of  all  but  one  of  the 
members  of  the  board  of  directors  of  the  defunct 
National  Building  and  Loan  Association.  Even 
Tom  Fester's  immovable  countenance  presented  a 
curiously  strained  appearance.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  the  dummy-director  idea  was  no  novelty  in 
New  Jersey. 

"I  take  it,  then,  that  the  paid-in  capitalization  of 
the  company  is  not  represented  in  actual  cash,"  said 
Mr.  Squinch. 

"No,"  admitted  Wallingford  cheerfully.  "As  a 
matter  of  fact,  at  our  first  meeting  the  directors  paid 


A  BRIEF  CHARACTER  Bit      129 

me  ninety-five  thousand  dollars  for  my  plan  of 
operation." 

Again  broad  smiles  illuminated  the  faces  of  the 
four,  and  this  time  Tom  Fester  actually  accom- 
plished a  smile  himself,  though  the  graining  might 
be  eternally  warped. 

"Then  you  started  in  business,"  sagely  deduced 
Mr.  Squinch,  with  the  joined  finger-tip  attitude  of  a 
triumphant  cross-examiner,  "having  but  a  total  cash 
capitalization  of  five  thousand  dollars." 

"Exactly,"  admitted  Wallingford,  chuckling. 
There  was  no  reservation  whatever  about  Mr.  Wall- 
ingford. He  seemed  to  regard  the  matter  as  a  very 
fair  joke. 

"You  are  a  very  bright  young  man,"  Mr.  Squinch 
complimented  him,  and  that  opinion  was  reflected 
in  the  faces  of  the  others.  "And  what  is  your  plan 
of  loans,  Mr.  Wallingford?" 

"Also  very  simple,"  replied  the  bright  young  man. 
"The  members  are  in  loan  groups,  corresponding  to 
the  lodges  of  secret  societies,  and,  in  fact,  their 
meetings  are  secret  meetings.  Each  member  pays  in 
a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  week,  and  the  quarter  goes 
into  the  expense  fund." 


130  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

The  five  individually  and  collectively  nodded  their 
heads. 

"Expense  fund,"  interpolated  Doc  Turner,  his 
blue-tipped  nose  wrinkling  with  the  enjoyment  trans- 
mitted from  his  whetting  palms,  "meaning  your- 
self." 

"Exactly,"  agreed  Wallingford.  "The  dollar  per 
week  goes  into  the  loan  fund,  but  at  the  start  there 
will  be  no  loans  made  until  there  is  a  thousand  dol- 
lars in  the  fund.  Ten  per  cent,  of  this  will  be  taken 
out  for  loan  investigations  and  the  payment  of  loan 
officers." 

"Meaning,  again,  yourself,"  squeaked  Andy 
Grout,  his  vertical  lines  making  obtuse  bends. 

"Exactly,"  again  agreed  Wallingford.  "Twenty- 
five  per  cent,  goes  to  the  grand  annual  loan,  and  the 
balance  will  be  distributed  in  loans  as  follows :  One 
loan  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  one  loan  of 
one  hundred,  one  of  fifty,  four  of  twenty-five  and 
fifteen  of  ten  dollars  each.  These  loans  will  be 
granted  without  other  security  than  an  unindorsed 
note  of  hand,  payable  in  four  years,  without  inter- 
est, and  the  loans  will  be  made  at  the  discretion  of 
the  loan  committee,  meeting  in  secret  session." 

Mr.  Squinch  drew  a  long  breath. 


A    BRIEF    CHARACTER   BIT         131 

"A  lottery!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Hush!"  said  J.  Rufus,  chuckling.  "Impossible. 
Every  man  gets  his  money  back.  Each  member  takes 
out  a  bond  which  matures  in  about  four  years,  if  he 
keeps  up  his  steady  payments  of  a  dollar  and  a  quar- 
ter a  week  without  lapsation  beyond  four  weeks, 
which  four  weeks  may  be  made  up  on  additional 
payment  of  a  fine  of  twenty-five  cents  for  each  de- 
linquent week,  all  fines,  of  course,  going  into  the 
expense  fund." 

Doc  Turner's  palms  were  by  this  time  quite  red 
from  the  friction. 

"And  how,  may  I  ask,  are  these  bonds  to  be  re- 
deemed ?"  asked  Mr.  Squinch  severely. 

"In  their  numbered  order,"  announced  Mr.  Wall- 
ingford  calmly,  "from  returned  loans.  When  bond 
number  one,  for  instance,  is  fully  paid  up,  its  face 
value  will  be  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  If  there 
is  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  the  redemption 
fund  at  that  time — which  the  company,  upon  the 
face  of  the  bonds,  definitely  refuses  to  guarantee, 
not  being  responsible  for  the  honesty  of  its  bond- 
holders— bond  number  one  gets  paid;  if  not,  bond 
number  one  waits  until  sufficient  money  has  been 
returned  to  the  fund,  and  number  two — or  number 


132  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

five,  say,  if  two,  three  and  four  have  lapsed — waits 
its  redemption  until  number  one  has  been  paid." 

A  long  and  simultaneous  sigh  from  five  breasts 
attested  the  appreciation  of  his  auditors  for  Mr. 
Wallingford's  beautiful  plan  of  operation. 

"No,"  announced  Mr.  Squinch,  placing  his  finger- 
tips ecstatically  together,  "your  plan  is  not  a  lot- 
tery." 

"Not  by  any  means,"  agreed  Doc  Turner,  rubbing 
his  palms. 

Jim  Christmas,  who  never  committed  himself 
orally  if  he  could  help  it,  now  chuckled  thickly  in 
his  throat,  and  the  scarlet  network  upon  his  face 
turned  crimson. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Wallingford,"  said  Mr.  Squinch, 
"I  think  that  we  will  accept  your  offer  of  two  shares 
of  stock  each  for  our  list." 

Mr.  Wallingford,  having  succeeded  in  giving 
these  gentlemen  a  grasping  personal  interest  in  his 
profits,  diplomatically  withheld  his  smile  for  a  pri- 
vate moment,  and,  turning  over  to  each  of  the  five 
gentlemen  two  shares  of  his  own  stock  in  the  com- 
pany, accepted  the  list.  Afterward,  in  entering  the 
item  in  his  books,  he  purchased  for  the  company, 
from  himself,  ten  shares  of  stock  for  one  thousand 


A   BRIEF    CHARACTER   BIT         133 

dollars,  paying  himself  the  cash,  and  charged  the 
issue  of  stock  to  the  expense  fund.  Then  he  sat  back 
and  waited  for  the  next  move. 

It  could  not  but  strike  such  closely  calculating 
gentlemen  as  the  new  members  that  here  was  a  con- 
cern in  which  they  ought  to  have  more  than  a  pal- 
try two  shares  each  of  stock.  Each  gentleman,  exer- 
cising his  rights  as  a  stock-holder,  had  insisted  on 
poring  carefully  over  the  constitution  and  by-laws, 
the  charter,  the  "bonds/'  and  all  the  other  forms  and 
papers.  Each,  again  in  his  capacity  of  stock-holder, 
had  kept  careful  track  of  the  progress  of  the  busi- 
ness, of  the  agents  that  were  presently  put  out,  and 
of  the  long  list  of  names  rapidly  piling  up  in  the 
card-index ;  and  each  made  hints  to  J.  Ruf us  about 
the  purchase  of  additional  stock,  becoming  regretful, 
however,  when  they  found  that  the  shares  were  held 
strictly  at  par. 

In  this  triumphant  period  Wallingford  was  ag- 
gravatingly  jovial,  even  exasperating,  in  the  crow- 
ing tone  he  took. 

"How  are  we  getting  along?  Fine!"  he  declared 
to  each  stock-holder  in  turn.  "Inside  of  six  months 
we'll  have  a  membership  of  ten  thousand!"  And 
they  were  forced  to  believe  him, 


I34  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

Probably  none  of  the  ex-members  of  the  defunct 
loan  association  was  so  annoyed  over  the  condition 
of  affairs  as  Ebenezer  Squinch,  nor  so  nervously  in- 
terested. 

"I  thought  you  intended  to  begin  collecting  your 
weekly  payments  when  you  had  two  hundred  and 
fifty  members,"  he  protested  to  Wallingford,  "but 
you  have  close  to  five  hundred  now." 

"That's  just  the  point,"  explained  Wallingford. 
"I'm  doing  so  much  better  than  I  thought  that  I 
don't  intend  to  start  the  collections  until  I  have  a 
full  thousand,  which  will  let  me  have  four  thousand 
in  the  very  first  loan  fund,  making  two  hundred 
and  fifty  a  week  to  the  expense  fund  and  a  hundred 
a  week  for  the  loan  committee,  besides  one  thousand 
dollars  toward  the  grand  annual  distribution.  That 
will  give  me  twenty-six  hundred  to  be  divided  in 
one  loan  of  a  thousand,  one  of  five  hundred,  one  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty,  two  of  a  hundred,  four  of 
fifty,  ten  of  twenty-five,  and  twenty  of  ten  dollars 
each ;  a  grand  distribution  of  thirty-nine  loans  in  all. 
That  keeps  it  from  being  a  piker  bet ;  and  think  what 
the  first  distribution  and  every  distribution  will  do 
toward  getting  future  membership!  And  they'll 
grow  larger  every  month.  I  don't  think  it'll  take  me 


A    BRIEF    CHARACTER    BIT         135 

all  that  six  months  to  get  my  ten  thousand  mem- 
bers." 

Mr.  Squinch,  over  his  tightly  pressed  finger-tips, 
did  a  little  rapid  figuring.  A  membership  of  ten 
thousand  would  make  a  total  income  for  the  office, 
counting  expense  fund  and  loan  committee  fund,  of 
three  thousand  five  hundred  per  week,  steadily,  week 
in  and  week  out,  with  endless  possibilities  of  in- 
crease. 

"And  what  did  you  say  you  would  take  for  a  half 
interest?"  he  asked. 

"I  didn't  say,"  returned  Wallingford,  chuckling, 
"because  I  wouldn't  sell  a  half  interest  under  any 
consideration.  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you, 
though,  that  I  do  need  some  money  at  once,  so  much 
so  that  I  would  part  with  four  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine  shares,  right  now,  and  for  spot  cash,  for  a  lump 
sum  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars." 

"Bound  to  keep  control  himself,"  Mr.  Squinch  re- 
ported to  his  confreres,  after  having  reluctantly  con- 
fessed to  himself  that  he  could  not  take  care  of  the 
proposition  alone.  "I  don't  blame  him  so  much, 
either,  for  he's  got  a  vast  money-maker." 

"Money  without  end,"  complained  Andy  Grout, 
his  mouth  stretching  sourly  down  to  the  shape  of  a 


136  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

narrow  croquet  wicket ;  "and  the  longer  we  stay  out 
of  this  thing  the  more  money  we're  losing.  It's  bet- 
ter than  any  building-loan." 

There  was  a  curious  hesitation  in  Andy  Grout's 
voice  as  he  spoke  of  the  building-loan,  for  he  had 
been  heartbroken  that  they  had  been  compelled  to 
give  up  this  lucrative  business,  and  he  was  not  over 
it  yet. 

Doc  Turner  rubbed  his  perpetually  lifeless  hands 
together  quite  slowly. 

"I  don't  know  whether  we're  losing  money  or 
not,"  he  interjected.  "There  is  no  question  but  that 
Wallingford  will  make  it,  but  I  suppose  you  know 
why  he  won't  sell  a  half  interest." 

"So  he  won't  lose  control,"  said  Squinch,  impa- 
tient that  of  so  obvious  a  fact  any  explanation  should 
be  required. 

"But  why  does  he  want  to  keep  control?"  per- 
sisted Doc  Turner.  "Why,  so  he  can  vote  himself  a 
big  salary  as  manager.  No  matter  how  much  he 
made  we'd  get  practically  no  dividends." 

It  was  shrewd  Andy  Grout  whose  high  squeak 
broke  the  long  silence  following  this  palpable  fact. 

"It  seems  to  me  we're  a  lot  of  plumb  idiots,  any- 
how," he  shrilled.  "He  wants  twenty-five  thousand 


A    BRIEF    CHARACTER    BIT         137 

for  less  than  fifty  per  cent  of  the  stock.  That's  five 
thousand  apiece  for  us.  I  move  we  put  in  the  five 
thousand  dollars  apiece,  but  start  a  company  of  our 
own." 

Mr.  Grout's  suggestion  was  a  revelation  which 
saved  Jim  Christmas  from  bursting  one  of  his  red 
veins  in  baffled  cupidity.  Negotiations  with  Mr. 
Wallingford  for  any  part  of  his  stock  suddenly 
ceased.  Instead,  within  a  very  short  time  there  ap- 
peared upon  the  door  of  the  only  vacant  office  left 
in  the  Turner  block,  the  sign:  "The  People's  Co- 
operative Bond  and  Loan  Company." 

Mr.  Wallingford  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  slight- 
est degree  put  out  by  the  competition.  In  fact,  he 
was  most  friendly  with  the  new  concern,  and  of- 
fered Doc  Turner,  who  had  been  nominated  man- 
ager of  the  new  company,  his  assistance  in  arrang- 
ing his  card-index  system,  or  upon  any  other  point 
upon  which  he  might  need  help. 

"There's  room  enough  for  all  of  us,"  he  said 
cheerfully.  "Of  course,  I  think  you  fellows  ought 
to  pay  me  a  royalty  for  using  my  plan,  but  there's 
no  way  for  me  to  compel  you  to  do  it.  There's  one 
thing  we  ought  to  do,  however,  and  that  is  to  take 
steps  to  prevent  a  lot  of  other  companies  from  jump- 


138  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

ing  in  and  spoiling  our  field.  I  think  I'll  get  right 
after  that  myself.  I  have  a  pretty  strong  pull  in  the 
state  department." 

They  were  holding  this  conversation  three  days 
after  the  sign  went  up,  and  Mr.  Squinch,  entering 
the  office  briskly  to  report  a  new  agent  that  he  had 
secured,  frowned  at  finding  Mr.  Wallingford  there. 
Business  was  business  with  Mr.  Squinch,  and  social 
calls  should  be  discouraged.  Before  he  could  frame 
his  objection  in  words,  however,  another  man  en- 
tered the  office,  a  stranger,  a  black-haired,  black- 
eyed,  black-mustached  young  man,  of  quite  minis- 
terial appearance  indeed,  as  to  mere  clothing,  who 
introduced  himself  to  Doc  Turner  as  one  Mr.  Clif- 
ford, and  laid  down  before  that  gentleman  a  neatly 
folded  parchment,  at  the  same  time  displaying  a 
beautiful  little  gold-plated  badge. 

"I  am  the  state  inspector  of  corporations,"  said 
Mr.  Clifford,  "and  this  paper  contains  my  creden- 
tials. I  have  come  to  inspect  your  plan  of  operation, 
and  to  examine  all  printed  forms,  books  and  min- 
utes." 

Mr.  Wallingford  rose  to  go,  but  a  very  natural 
curiosity  apparently  led  him  to  remain  standing, 
while  Doc  Turner,  with  a  troubled  glance  at 


A    BRIEF    CHARACTER    BIT         139 

Ebenezer  Squinch,  rose  to  collect  samples  of  all  the 
company's  printed  forms  for  the  representative  of 
the  law. 

Mr.  Wallingford  sat  down  again. 

"I  might  just  as  well  stay,"  he  observed  to  Doc 
Turner,  "because  my  interests  are  the  same  as 
yours." 

Mr.  Clifford  looked  up  at  him  with  a  very  sharp 
glance,  as  both  Mr.  Turner  and  Mr.  Squinch  took 
note.  At  once,  however,  Mr.  Clifford  went  to  work. 
In  a  remarkably  short  space  of  time,  seeming,  in- 
deed, to  have  known  just  where  to  look  for  the  flaw, 
he  pointed  out  a  phrase  in  the  "bond,"  the  phrase 
pertaining  to  the  plan  of  redemption. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he  gravely,  "I  am  very  sorry 
to  say  that  the  state  department  can  not  permit 
you  to  do  business  with  this  bond,  and  that  any  at- 
tempt to  do  so  will  result  in  the  revoking  of  your 
charter.  I  note  that  this  is  bond  number  one,  and 
assume  from  this  fact  that  you  have  not  yet  sold 
any  of  them.  You  are  very  lucky  indeed  not  to  have 
done  so." 

A  total  paralysis  settled  upon  Messrs.  Turner  and 
Squinch,  a  paralysis  which  was  only  relieved  by  the 
counter-irritant  of  Wallingford's  presence.  To  him 


1 40  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

Mr.  Squinch  made  his  first  observation,  and  it  was 
almost  with  a  snarl. 

"Seems  to  me  this  rather  puts  a  spoke  in  your 
wheel,  too,  Wallingford,"  he  observed. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Wallingford?"  asked  Mr.  Clifford, 
suddenly  rising  with  a  cordial  smile.  "I  am  very 
glad  indeed  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Wallingford,"  he  said 
as  he  shook  hands  with  that  gentleman.  "They  told 
me  about  you  at  the  state  department.  As  soon  as 
I've  finished  here  I'll  drop  in  to  look  at  your  papers, 
just  as  a  matter  of  form,  you  know." 

"If  you  refuse  to  let  us  operate,"  interposed  Mr. 
Squinch  in  his  most  severely  legal  tone,  "you  will  be 
compelled  to  refuse  Mr.  Wallingford  permission  to 
operate  also!" 

"I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  replied  Mr.  Clif- 
ford suavely.  "The  slightest  variation  in  forms  of 
this  sort  can  sometimes  make  a  very  great  difference, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  shall  find  such  a  diver- 
gence; no  doubt  whatever!  By  the  way,  Walling- 
ford," he  said,  turning  again  to  that  highly  pleased 
gentleman,  "Jerrold  sent  his  respects  to  you.  He 
was  telling  me  a  good  story  about  you  that  I'll  have 
to  go  over  with  you  by  and  by.  I  want  you  to  take 
dinner  with  me  to-night,  anyhow." 


A    BRIEF    CHARACTER   BIT         141 

Jerrold  was  the  state  auditor. 

"I  shall  be  very  much  pleased,"  said  Wallingford. 
"I'll  just  drop  into  the  office  and  get  my  papers  laid 
out  for  you." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Mr.  Clifford  carelessly.  "I 
don't  want  to  spend  much  time  over  them." 

Other  fatal  flaws  Mr.  Clifford  found  in  the  Tur- 
ner and  Company  plan  of  operation,  and  when  he 
left  the  office  of  The  People's  Cooperative  Bond  and 
Loan  Company,  the  gentlemen  present  representing 
that  concern  felt  dismally  sure  that  their  doom  was 
sealed. 

"We're  up  against  a  pull  again,"  said  Doc  Turner 
despondently.  "It's  the  building-loan  company  ex- 
perience all  over  again.  You  can't  do  anything  any 
more  in  this  country  without  a  pull." 

"And  it  won't  do  any  good  for  us  to  go  up  to 
Trenton  and  try  to  get  one,"  concluded  Mr.  Squinch 
with  equal  despondency.  "We  tried  that  with  the 
building-loan  company  and  failed." 

In  the  office  of  The  People's  Mutual  Bond  and 
Loan  Company  there  was  no  despondency  whatever, 
for  Mr.  Wallingford  and  the  dark-haired  gentleman 
i  who  had  given  his  name  as  Mr.  Clifford  were  shak- 
ing hands  with  much  glee. 


142  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

"They  fell  for  it  like  kids  for  a  hoky-poky  cart, 
Blackie,"  exulted  Wallingford.  "They're  in  there 
right  this  minute  talking  about  the  cash  value  of  a 
pull.  That  was  the  real  ready-money  tip  of  all  the 
information  I  got  from  old  Colonel  Fox." 

They  had  lit  cigars  and  were  still  gleeful  when  a 
serious  thought  came  to  Mr.  Clifford,  erstwhile 
Mr.  Daw. 

"This  is  a  dangerous  proposition,  though,  J. 
Rufus,"  he  objected.  "Suppose  they  actually  take 
this  matter  up  with  the  state  department?  Sup- 
pose they  even  go  there?" 

"Well,  they  can't  prove  any  connection  between 
you  and  me,  and  you  will  be  out  of  the  road,"  said 
Wallingford.  "I  don't  mind  confessing  that  it's 
nearer  an  infraction  of  the  law  than  I  like,  though, 
and  hereafter  I  don't  intend  to  come  so  close.  It 
isn't  necessary.  But  in  this  case  there's  nothing  to 
fear.  These  lead-pipe  artists  are  scared  so  stiff  by 
their  fall-down  on  the  building-loan  game  that 
they'll  take  their  medicine  right  here  and  now. 
They'll  come  to  me  before  to-morrow  night,  now 
that  I've  got  them,  to  collect  their  money  in  a  wad 
in  the  new  company.  They  might  even  start  work 
to-night." 


A    BRIEF    CHARACTER    BIT         143 

He  rose  from  the  table  in  his  private  office  and 
went  to  the  door. 

"Oh,  Billy!"  he  called. 

A  sharp-looking  young  fellow  with  a  pen  behind 
his  ear  came  from  the  other  room. 

"Billy,  here's  a  hundred  dollars  for  you,"  said 
Walling  ford. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Billy.  "Who's  to  be  thugged  ?" 

"Nobody,"  replied  Wallingford,  laughing.  "It's 
just  a  good-will  gift.  By  the  way,  if  Doc  Turner  or 
any  of  that  crowd  back  there  makes  any  advances 
to  you  to  buy  your  share  of  stock,  sell  it  to  them, 
and  you're  a  rank  sucker  if  you  take  less  than  two 
hundred  for  it.  Also  tell  them  that  you  can  get  three 
other  shares  from  the  office  force  at  the  same  price." 

Billy,  with  great  deliberation,  took  a  pin  from  the 
lapel  of  his  coat  and  pinned  his  hundred-dollar  bill 
inside  his  inside  vest  pocket,  then  he  winked  pro- 
digiously, and  without  another  word  withdrew. 

"He's  a  smart  kid,"  said  Blackie. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WALLINGFORD  IS  FROZEN  OUT  OF  THE  MANAGEMENT 
OF  HIS  OWN  COMPANY 

IN  the  old  game  of  "pick  or  poe"  one  boy  held 
out  a  pin,  concealed  between  his  fingers,  and  the 
other  boy  guessed  whether  the  head  or  point  was 
toward  him.  It  was  a  great  study  in  psychology. 
The  boy  who  held  the  pin  had  to  do  as  much  guess- 
ing as  the  other  one.  Having  held  forward  heads 
the  first  time,  should  he  reverse  the .pin  the  second 
time,  or  repeat  heads?  In  so  far  as  one  of  the  two 
boys  correctly  gaged  the  elaborateness  of  the 
other's  mental  process  he  was  winner.  At  the  age 
when  he  played  this  game  Wallingford  usually  had 
all  the  pins  in  school.  Now  he  was  out-guessing  the 
Doc  Turner  crowd.  He  had  foreseen  every  step  in 
their  mental  process;  he  had  foreseen  that  they 
would  start  an  opposition  company;  he  had  fore- 
seen their  extravagant  belief  in  his  "pull,"  knowing 
what  he  did  of  their  previous  experience,  and  he 
144 


WALLINGFORD   IS   FROZEN   OUT     145 

had  foreseen  that  now  they  would  offer  to  buy  up 
the  stock  held  by  his  office  force,  so  as  to  secure  con- 
trol, before  opening  fresh  negotiations  for  the  stock 
he  had  offered  them. 

That  very  night  Doc  Turner  called  at  the  house 
of  Billy  Whipple  to  ask  where  he  could  get  a  good 
bird-dog,  young  Whipple  being  known  as  a  gifted 
amateur  in  dogs.  Billy,  nothing  loath,  took  Doc  out 
to  the  kennel,  where,  by  a  fortunate  coincidence,  of 
which  Mr.  Turner  had  known  nothing,  of  course, 
he  happened  to  have  a  fine  set  of  puppies.  These 
Mr.  Turner  admired  in  a  more  or  less  perfunctory 
fashion. 

"By  the  way,  Billy,"  he  by  and  by  inquired,  "how 
do  you  like  y<3ur  position?" 

"Oh,  so-so,"  replied  Billy.  "The  job  looks  good 
to  me.  Wallingford  has  started  a  very  successful 
business." 

"How  much  does  he  pay  you?" 

Billy  reflected.  It  was  easy  enough  to  let  a  lie 
slip  off  his  tongue,  but  Turner  had  access  to  the 
books. 

"Twenty-five  dollars  a  week,"  he  said. 

"You  owe  a  lot  to  Wallingford,"  observed  Mr. 
Turner.  "It's  the  best  pay  you  ever  drew." 


I46  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Yes,  it  is  pretty  good,"  admitted  Billy;  "but  I 
don't  owe  Wallingford  any  more  than  I  owe  my- 
self." 

In  the  dark  Mr.  Turner  slowly  placed  his  palms 
together. 

"You're  a  bright  boy,"  said  Mr.  Turner.  "Billy, 
I  don't  like  to  see  a  stranger  come  in  here  and  gob- 
ble up  the  community's  money.  It  ought  to  stay  in 
the  hands  of  home  folks.  I'd  like  to  get  control  of 
that  business.  If  you'll  sell  me  your  share  of  stock 
I  might  be  able  to  handle  it,  and  if  I  can  I'll  advance 
your  wages  to  thirty-five  dollars  a  week." 

"You're  a  far  pleasanter  man  than  Wallingford," 
said  Billy  amiably.  "You're  a  smarter  man,  a  better 
man,  a  handsomer  man !  When  do  we  start  on  that 
thirty-five?" 

"Very  quickly,  Billy,  if  you  feel  that  way  about 
it."  And  the  friction  of  Mr.  Turner's  palms  was 
perfectly  audible.  "Then  I  can  have  your  share  of 
stock?" 

"You  most  certainly  can,  and  I'll  guarantee  to 
buy  up  three  other  shares  in  the  office  if  you  want 
them." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Turner,  not  having  expected 
to  accomplish  so  much  of  his  object  so  easily.  "The 


WALLINGFORD    IS    FROZEN    OUT     147 

minute  you  lay  me  down  those  four  shares  I'll  hand 
you  four  hundred  dollars." 

"Eight,"  Billy  calmly  corrected  him.  "Those 
shares  are  worth  a  hundred  dollars  apiece  any  place 
now.  Mine's  worth  more  than  two  hundred  to  me." 

"Nonsense,"  protested  the  other.  "Tell  you  what 
I'll  do,  though.  I'll  pay  you  two  hundred  dollars  for 
your  share  and  a  hundred  dollars  apiece  for  the 
others." 

"Two,"  insisted  Billy.  "We've  talked  it  all  over 
in  the  office,  and  we've  agreed  to  pool  our  stock  and 
stand  out  for  two  hundred  apiece,  if  anybody  wants 
it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  all  four  shares  in  my 
possession  at  this  moment,"  and  he  displayed  the 
certificates,  holding  up  his  lantern  so  that  Turner 
could  see  them. 

The  sight  of  the  actual  stock,  the  three  other 
shares  which  the  astute  Billy  had  secured  on  the 
promise  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  per  share  im- 
mediately after  Wallingford's  pointer,  clenched  the 
business. 

It  was  scarcely  as  much  a  shock  to  Wallingford 
as  the  Turner  crowd  had  expected  it  to  be  when 
those  gentlemen,  having  purchased  four  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  shares  of  Wallingford's  stock  at  his 


148  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

own  price,  sat  in  the  new  stock-holders'  meeting,  at 
the  reorganization  upon  which  they  had  insisted, 
with  five  hundred  and  three  shares,  and  J.  Rufus 
made  but  feeble  protest  when  the  five  of  them,  vot- 
ing themselves  into  the  directorate,  decided  to  put 
the  founder  of  the  company  on  an  extremely  meager 
salary  as  assistant  manager,  and  Mr.  Turner  on  a 
slightly  larger  salary  as  chief  manager. 

"There's  no  use  of  saying  anything,"  he  concluded 
philosophically.  "You  gentlemen  have  played  a  very 
clever  game  and  I  lose ;  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

He  thereupon  took  up  the  burden  of  the  work  and 
pushed  through  the  matter  of  new  memberships  and 
of  collections  with  a  vigor  and  ability  that  could  not 
but  commend  itself  to  his  employers.  The  second 
week's  collections  were  now  coming  in,  and  it  was 
during  the  following  week  that  a  large  hollow  wheel 
with  a  handle  and  crank,  mounted  on  an  axle  like  a 
patent  churn,  was  brought  into  the  now  vacated 
room  of  the  defunct  People's  Cooperative  Bond  and 
Loan  Company. 

"What's  this  thing  for?"  asked  Wallingford,  in- 
specting it  curiously. 

"The  drawing,"  whispered  Doc  Turner. 

"What  drawing?" 


WALLINGFORD    IS    FROZEN   OUT     149 

"The  loans." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you're  going  to  con- 
duct this  as  a  lottery?"  protested  Wallingford, 
shocked  and  even  distressed. 

"Sh!  Don't  use  that  word,"  cautioned  Turner. 
"Not  even  among  ourselves.  You  might  use  it  in 
the  wrong  place  some  time." 

"Why  not  use  the  word?"  Wallingford  indig- 
nantly wanted  to  know.  "That's  what  you're  pre- 
paring to  do !  I  told  you  in  the  first  place  that  this 
was  not  by  any  means  to  be  considered  as  a  lottery ; 
that  it  was  not  to  have  any  of  the  features  of  a  lot- 
tery. Moreover,  I  shall  not  permit  it  to  be  conducted 
as  a  lottery !" 

Doc  Turner  leaned  against  the  side  of  the  big 
wooden  wheel  and  stared  at  Wallingford  in  con- 
sternation. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  demanded. 
"Have  you  gone  crazy,  or  what?" 

"Sane  enough  that  I  don't  intend  to  be  connected 
with  a  lottery!  I  have  conscientious  scruples  about 
it." 

"May  I  ask,  then,  how  you  propose  to  decide  these 
so-called  loans?"  inquired  Turner,  with  palm-rub- 
bing agitation. 


150  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Examine  the  records  of  the  men  who  have  made 
application,"  explained  Wallingford ;  "find  out  their 
respective  reputations  for  honesty,  reliability  and 
prompt  payment,  and  place  the  different  loans,  ac- 
cording to  that  information,  in  as  many  different 
towns  as  possible." 

Doc  Turner  gazed  at  him  in  scorn  for  a  full 
minute. 

"You're  a  damned  fool !"  he  declared.  "Why,  you 
yourself  intended  to  conduct  this  as  a  secret  society, 
and  I  had  intended  to  have  representatives  from  at 
least  three  of  the  lodges  attend  each  drawing." 

To  this  Wallingford  made  no  reply,  and  Turner, 
to  ease  his  mind,  locked  the  door  on  the  lottery- 
wheel  and  went  in  to  open  the  mail.  It  always 
soothed  him  to  take  money  from  envelopes.  A  great 
many  of  the  letters  pertaining  to  the  business  of  the 
company  were  addressed  to  Wallingford  in  person, 
and  Turner  slit  open  all  such  letters  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Half-way  down  the  pile  he  opened  one,  ad- 
dressed to  Wallingford,  which  made  him  gasp  and 
re-read.  The  letter  read : 

DEAR  JIM  : 

They  have  found  out  your  new  name  and  where 
you  are,  and  unless  you  get  out  of  town  on  the  first 


WALLINGFORD    IS    FROZEN    OUT     151 

train  they'll  arrest  you  sure.  I  don't  need  to  remind 
you  that  they  don't  hold  manslaughter  as  a  light  of- 
fense in  Massachusetts. 

Let  me  know  your  new  name  and  address  as  soon 
as  you  have  got  safely  away.          YOUR  OLD  PAL. 


Doc  Turner's  own  fingers  were  trembling  as  he 
passed  this  missive  to  Wallingford,  whose  expectant 
eyes  had  been  furtively  fixed  upon  the  pile  of  letters 
for  some  time. 

"Too  bad,  old  man,"  said  Turner,  tremulously 
aghast.  "Couldn't  help  reading  it." 

"My  God !"  exclaimed  Wallingford  most  dramati- 
cally. "It  has  come  at  last,  just  as  I  had  settled 
down  to  lead  a  quiet,  decent,  respectable  life,  with 
every  prospect  in  my  favor !"  He  sprang  up  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  "I'll  have  to  move  on  again !" 
he  dismally  declared;  "and  I  suppose  they'll  chase 
me  from  one  cover  to  another  until  they  finally  get 
me ;  but  I'll  never  give  up !  Please  see  what's  coming 
to  me,  Mr.  Turner;  you  have  the  cash  in  the  house 
to  pay  me,  I  know ;  and  kindly  get  my  stock  certifi- 
cates from  the  safe." 

Slowly  and  thoughtfully  Turner  took  from  the 
safe  Wallingford's  four  hundred  and  ninety-seven 
shares  of  stock,  in  four  certificates  of  a  hundred 


152  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

shares  each,  one  of  fifty  and  one  of  forty-seven. 
Wallingford  hurried  them  into  an  envelope,  sitting 
down  to  write  the  add,ress  upon  it. 

".What  are  you  going  to  do  with  those?"  asked 
Turner  with  a  thoughtful  frown. 

"Send  them  to  my  friend  in  Boston  and  have  him 
sell  them  for  what  he  can  get,"  replied  Wallingford 
with  a  sigh.  "If  the  purchasers  send  any  one  here 
to  find  out  about  the  business,  you'll,  of  course,  give 
them  every  facility  for  investigation." 

"To  be  sure;  to  be  sure,"  returned  Turner.  "But, 
say—" 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  Wallingford,  in  the 
act  of  writing  a  hasty  note  to  go  with  the  stock  cer- 
tificates, hesitated,  his  pen  poised  just  above  the 
paper. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"You'll  probably  have  to  sell  those  shares  at  a  sac- 
rifice, Wallingford." 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  he  admitted. 

Doc  Turner's  palms  rubbed  out  a  slow  decision 
while  Wallingford  scratched  away  at  his  letter. 

"Um-m-m-m-m-m-m — I  say!"  began  Turner 
gropingly.  "Rather  than  have  those  shares  fall  into 
the  hands  of  strangers  we  might  possibly  make  you 


WALLINGFORD    IS    FROZEN   OUT     153 

an  offer  for  them  ourselves.  Wait  till  I  see 
Squinch." 

He  saw  Squinch,  he  saw  Tom  Fester,  he  tele- 
phoned to  Andy  Grout,  and  the  four  of  them  gath- 
ered in  solemn  conclave.  The  consensus  of  the 
meeting  was  that  if  they  could  secure  Wallingford's 
shares  at  a  low  enough  figure  it  was  a  good  thing. 
Not  one  man  among  them  but  had  regretted  deeply 
the  necessity  of  sharing  any  portion  of  the  earnings 
of  the  company  with  Wallingford,  or  with  one  an- 
other, for  that  matter.  Moreover,  new  stock-holders 
might  "raise  a  rumpus"  about  their  methods  of  con- 
ducting the  business,  as  Wallingford  had  started  to 
do.  Gravely  they  called  Wallingford  in. 

"Wallingford,"  said  Mr.  Squinch,  showing  in  his 
very  tone  his  disrespect  for  a  criminal,  "Mr.  Turner 
has  acquainted  us  with  the  fact  that  you  are  com- 
pelled to  leave  us,  and  though  we  already  have  about 
as  large  a  burden  as  we  can  conveniently  carry,  we're 
willing  to  allow  you  five  thousand  dollars  for  your 
stock." 

"For  four  hundred  and  ninety-seven  shares! 
Nearly  fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth !"  gasped  Wall- 
ingford, "and  worth  par !" 

"It  is  a  debatable  point,"  said  Mr.  Squinch,  plac/< 


i54  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

ing  his  finger-tips  together,  and  speaking  with  cold 
severity,  "as  to  whether  that  stock  is  worth  par  or 
not  at  the  present  moment.  I  should  say  that  it  is 
not,  particularly  the  stock  that  you  hold." 

"Even  at  a  sacrifice,"  insisted  Wallingford,  "my 
friend  ought  to  be  able  to  get  fifty  dollars  a  share 
for  me." 

"You  must  remember,  Mr.  Wallingford,"  re- 
turned the  severe  voice,  "that  you  are  not  so  free  to 
negotiate  as  you  seemed  to  be  an  hour  or  so  ago. 
In  a  word,  you  are  a  fugitive  from  justice,  and  I 
don't  know,  myself,  but  what  our  duty,  anyhow, 
would  be  to  give  you  up." 

Not  one  man  there  but  would  have  done  it  if  it 
had  been  to  his  advantage. 

"You  wouldn't  do  that!"  pleaded  Wallingford, 
most  piteously  indeed.  "Why,  gentlemen,  the  mere 
fact  that  I  am  in  life-and-death  need  of  every  cent  I 
can  get  ought  to  make  you  more  liberal  with  me; 
particularly  in  view  of  the  fact  that  I  made  this  busi- 
ness, that  I  built  it  up,  and  that  all  its  profits  that 
you  are  to  reap  are  due  to  me.  Why,  at  twenty 
thousand  the  stock  would  be  a  fine  bargain." 

This  they  thoroughly  believed — but  business  is 
business ! 


WALLINGFORD    IS    FROZEN    OUT     155 

"Utterly  impossible,"  said  Mr.  Squinch. 

The  slyly  rubbing  palms  of  Mr.  Turner,  the  down- 
shot  lines  of  Andy  Grout's  face,  the  compressed 
lips  of  Tom  Fester,  all  affirmed  Mr.  Squinch's  de- 
cided negative. 

"Give  me  fifteen,"  pleaded  Wallingford.  "Twelve 
K-tcn." 

They  would  not.  To  each  of  these  proposals  they 
shook  emphatic  heads. 

"Very  well,"  said  Wallingford,  and  quietly  wrote 
an  address  on  the  envelope  containing  his  certifi- 
cates. He  tossed  the  envelope  on  the  postal  scales, 
sealed  it,  took  stamps  from  his  drawer  and  pasted 
them  on.  "Then,  gentlemen,  good  day." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  hastily  protested  Mr.  Squinch. 
"Gentlemen,  suppose  we  confer  a  minute." 

Heads  bent  together,  they  conferred. 

"We'll  give  you  eight  thousand  dollars,"  said 
Squinch  as  a  result  of  the  conference.  "We'll  go 
right  down  and  draw  it  out  of  the  bank  in  cash  and 
give  it  to  you." 

There  was  not  a  trace  of  hesitation  in  Walling- 
ford. 

"I've  made  my  lowest  offer,"  he  said.  "Ten  thou- 
sand or  I'll  drop  these  in  the  mail  box." 


156  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

They  were  quite  certain  that  Wallingford  meant 
business,  as  indeed  he  did.  He  had  addressed  the 
envelope  to  Blackie  Daw  and  he  was  quite  sure  that 
he  could  make  the  shares  worth  at  least  ten  thou- 
sand. 

Once  more  they  conferred. 

"All  right,"  agreed  Mr.  Squinch  reluctantly. 
".We'll  do  it — out  of  charity." 

"I  don't  care  what  it's  out  of,  so  long  as  I  get 
the  money,"  said  Wallingford. 

In  New  York,  where  Wallingford  met  Blackie 
Daw  by  appointment,  the  latter  was  eager  to  know 
the  details. 

"The  letter  did  the  business,  I  suppose,  eh,  Wall- 
ingford?" 

"Fine  and  dandy,"  assented  Wallingford.  "A 
great  piece  of  work,  and  timed  to  the  hour.  I  saw 
the  envelope  in  that  batch  of  mail  before  I  made  my 
play." 

"Manslaughter!"  shrieked  Blackie  by  and  by.  "On 
the  level,  J.  Rufus,  did  you  ever  kill  anything  big- 
ger than  a  mosquito  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  think  I  made  quite  a  sizable  kill- 
ing down  in  Doc  Turner's  little  old  town,"  he  said 
complacently. 


WALLINGFORD    IS    FROZEN    OUT       157 

"I  don't  think  so,"  disputed  Blackie  thoughtfully. 
"I  may  be  a  cheese-head,  but  I  don't  see  why  you 
sold  your  stock,  anyhow.  Seems  to  me  you  had  a 
good  graft  there.  Why  didn't  you  hold  on  to  it? 
It  was  a  money-maker." 

"No,"  denied  Wallingford  with  decision.  "It's 
an  illegal  business,  Blackie,  and  I  won't  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  an  illegal  business.  The  first  thing 
you  know  that  lottery  will  be  in  trouble  with  the 
federal  government,  and  I'm  on  record  as  never 
having  conducted  any  part  of  it  after  it  became  a 
lottery.  Another  thing,  in  less  than  a  year  that 
bunch  of  crooks  will  be  figuring  on  how  to  land  the 
capital  prize  for  themselves  under  cover.  No, 
Blackie,  a  quick  turn  and  legal  safety  for  mine, 
every  time.  It  pays  better.  Why,  I  cleaned  up 
thirty  thousand  dollars  net  profit  on  this  in  three 
months !  Isn't  that  good  pay  ?" 

"It  makes  a  crook  look  like  a  fool,"  admitted 
Blackie  Daw. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BEAUTY  PHILLIPS  STEPS  INTO  THE  SPOT-LIGHT  FOR 
HER  GRAND  SPECIALTY 

OF  course  Blackie  got  his  "bit"  out  of  the  spoils 
and  hurried  away  to  pursue  certain  fortune- 
making  plans  of  his  own,  while  young  Wallingford, 
stopping  in  New  York,  prepared  as  elaborately  to 
spend  one.  It  was  some  trouble  at  first  to  find  the 
most  expensive  things  in  New  York,  but  at  last  he  lo- 
cated them  in  the  race-track  and  in  Beauty  Phillips, 
the  latter  being  the  moderately  talented  but  gorgeous 
"hit"  of  The  Pink  Canary;  and  the  thoroughbreds 
and  Beauty  made  a  splendid  combination,  so  perfect 
in  their  operations  that  one  beautiful  day  Walling- 
ford  awoke  to  the  fact  that  the  time  had  almost 
arrived  to  go  to  work.  At  the  moment  he  made  this 
decision,  the  Beauty,  as  richly  colored  and  as  expres- 
sionless as  a  wax  model,  was  sitting  at  his  side  in  the 
grand-stand,  with  her  eyes  closed,  jabbing  a  hole 
at  random  in  the  card  of  the  fifth  race. 
158 


BEAUTY    IN    THE    SPOT-LIGHT     159 

"Bologna !"  exclaimed  Wallingford,  noting  where 
the  fateful  pin-hole  had  appeared.  "It's  a  nice  comic- 
supplement  name;  but  I'll  go  down  to  the  ring  and 
burn  another  hundred  or  so  on  him." 

The  band  broke  into  a  lively  air,  and  the  newest 
sensation  of  Broadway,  all  in  exquisite  violet  from 
nodding  plume  to  silken  hose,  looked  out  over  the 
sunlit  course  in  calm  rumination.  Her  companion, 
older  but  not  too  old,  less  handsome  but  not  too  ill- 
favored,  less  richly  dressed  but  not  too  plainly, 
nudged  her. 

"There  goes  your  Money  and  Moonshine  song 
again,  dearie,"  she  observed. 

Still  calmly,  as  calmly  as  a  digestive  cow  in  pleas- 
ant shade,  the  star  of  The  Pink  Canary  replied : 

"Don't  you  see  I'm  trying  not  to  hear  it,  mother?" 

The  eyes  of  "Mrs.  Phillips"  narrowed  a  trifle, 
and  sundry  tiny  but  sharp  lines,  revealing  much  but 
concealing  more,  flashed  upon  her  brow  and  were 
gone.  J.  Rufus  glanced  in  perplexity  at  her  as  he 
had  done  a  score  of  times,  wondering  at  her  self- 
repression,  at  her  unrevealed  depths  of  wisdom,  at 
her  clever  acting  of  a  most  difficult  role ;  for  Beauty 
Phillips,  being  a  wise  young  lady  and  having  no 
convenient  mother  of  her  own,  had  hired  one,  ancl 


160  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

by  this  device  was  enabled  to  remain  as  placidly 
Platonic  as  a  plate  of  ice-cream.  Well,  it  was  worth 
rich  gifts  merely  to  be  seen  in  proprietorship  of 
her  at  the  supper  places. 

Wallingford  rose  without  enthusiasm. 

"Bologna  won't  win!"  he  announced  with  re- 
signed conviction. 

"Sure  not!"  agreed  Beauty  Phillips.  "Bologna 
will  stop  to  think  at  the  Barrier,  and  finish  in  the 
road  of  the  next  race." 

"Bologna  has  to  win,"  Wallingford  rejoined,  dis- 
puting both  her  and  himself.  "There's  only  a  little 
over  a  thousand  left  in  your  Uncle  Jimmy's  bank- 
roll." 

"And  you  had  over  forty  thousand  when  Sammy 
Harrison  introduced  us,"  said  the  Beauty  with  a 
sigh.  "Honest,  Pinky,  somebody  has  sure  put  a  poi- 
son curse  on  you.  You're  a  grand  little  sport,  but  on 
the  level,  I'm  afraid  to  trail  around  with  you  much 
longer.  I'm  afraid  I'll  lose  my  voice  or  break  a 
leg." 

"Old  pal,"  agreed  J.  Rufus,  "the  hex  is  sure  on 
me,  and  if  I  don't  walk  around  my  chair  real  quick, 
the  only  way  I'll  get  to  see  you  will  be  to  buy  a  gal- 
lery seat," 


BEAUTY    IN    THE    SPOT-LIGHT     161 

"I  was  just  going  to  talk  with  you  about  that, 
Jimmy,"  stated  the  Beauty  seriously.  "You've  been 
a  perfect  gentleman  in  every  respect,  and  I  will  say 
I  never  met  a  party  that  was  freer  with  his  coin ;  but 
I've  got  to  look  out  for  my  future.  I  won't  always 
be  a  hit,  and  I've  got  to  pick  out  a  good  marrying 
proposition  while  the  big  bouquets  grow  with  my 
name  already  on  'em.  Of  course,  you  know,  I 
couldn't  marry  you,  because  nothing  less  than  a 
million  goes.  If  you  only  had  the  money  now — 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  certain  lazy  admira- 
tion. He  was  tremendously  big;  and  rather  good- 
looking,  too,  she  gaged,  although  the  blue  eyes  that 
were  set  in  his  jovial  big  countenance  were  entirely 
too  small. 

In  reply  to  her  unfinished  sentence  J.  Rufus 
chuckled. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that,  little  one,"  said  he. 
"I  only  wear  you  on  my  arm  for  the  same  reason 
that  I  wear  this  Tungsten-light  boulder  in  my  neck- 
tie :  just  to  show  'em  I'm  the  little  boy  that  can  grab 
off  the  best  there  is  in  the  market.  Of  course  it'd 
be  fine  and  dandy  to  win  you  for  keeps,  but  I  know 
where  you  bought  your  ticket  for,  long  ago.  You'll 
end  by  getting  your  millionaire.  In  six  months  he'll 


1 62  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

go  dippy  over  some  other  woman,  and  then  you'll 
get  your  alimony,  which  is  not  only  a  handy  thing 
to  have  around  the  house,  but  proves  that  you're 
perfectly  respectable." 

"You've  got  some  good  ideas,  anyhow,"  she 
complimented  him,  and  then  she  sighed.  "The  only 
trouble  is,  every  time  one  lines  up  that  I  think'll  do, 
I  find  he's  got  a  wife  hid  away  some  place." 

"And  it  isn't  set  down  in  her  lines  to  fix  up  ali- 
mony for  some  other  woman,"  commented  the 
pseudo  Mrs.  Phillips. 

A  couple  of  men,  one  nattily  dressed  and  with 
curly  hair,  and  the  other  short  and  fat  and  wearing 
a  flaming  waistcoat,  passed  on  their  way  down  to  the 
betting-shed  and  carelessly  tipped  their  hats. 

"Do  you  know  those  two  cheaps?"  she  inquired, 
eying  their  retreating  backs  with  disfavor. 

Again  Wallingford  chuckled. 

"Know  them!"  he  replied.  "I  should  say  I  do! 
Green-Goods  Harry  Phelps  and  Badger  Billy  Bant- 
ing ?  Why,  they  and  their  friends,  Short-Card  Larry 
Teller  and  Yap  Pickins,  framed  up  a  stud  poker 
game  on  me  the  first  week  I  hit  town,  with  the 
lovely  idea  of  working  a  phoney  pinch  on  me ;  but 
I  got  a  real  cop  to  hand  them  the  triple  cross,  and 


BEAUTY    IN    THE    SPOT-LIGHT     163 

took  five  thousand  away  from  them  so  easy  it  was 
like  taking  four-o'clock  milk  from  a  doorstep." 

"I'm  glad  of  it,"  she  said,  with  as  much  trace  of 
vindictiveness  as  her  beauty  specialist  would  have 
permitted.  "They're  an  awful  low-class  crowd. 
They  came  over  to  my  table  one  night  in  Shirley's, 
after  I'd  met  them  only  once,  and  butted  in  on  a 
rich  gentleman  friend  of  mine  from  Washington. 
They  run  up  an  awful  bill  on  him  and  never  offered 
even  to  buy  cigars,  and  then  when  he  was  gone  for  a 
minute  to  pick  out  our  wagon,  they  tried  to  get  fresh 
with  me  right  in  front  of  mother.  I'm  glad  some- 
body stung  'em." 

A  very  thick-set  man,  with  an  inordinately  broad 
jaw  and  an  indefinable  air  of  blunt  aggressiveness, 
came  past  them  and  nodded  to  J.  Rufus  with  a 
grudging  motion  toward  his  shapeless  slouch  hat 

"Who's  that?"  she  asked. 

"Jake  Block,"  he  replied.  "A  big  owner  with  so 
much  money  he  could  bed  his  horses  in  it,  and  an 
ingrowing  grouch  that  has  put  a  crimp  in  his  in- 
formation works.  He's  never  been  known  to  give 
out  a  tip  since  he  was  able  to  lisp  'mamma.'  He 
eats  nothing  but  table  d'hote  dinners  so  he  won't 
have  to  tell  the  waiters  what  he  likes." 


1 64  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Jake  Block,  on  some  brief  errand  to  the  press 
box,  returned  just  as  J.  Rufus  was  starting  down  to 
the  betting-shed,  and  he  stopped  a  moment. 

"How  are  you  picking  them  to-day,  Walling- 
ford?"  he  asked  perfunctorily,  with  his  eye  on 
Beauty  Phillips. 

"Same  way,"  confessed  Wallingford.  "I  haven't 
cashed  a  ticket  in  the  meeting.  I  have  the  kind  of  luck 
that  would  scale  John  D.  Rockefeller's  bank-roll 
down  to  the  size  of  a  dance-program  lead  pencil." 

"Well,"  said  Jake  philosophically,  his  eyes  still  on 
the  Beauty,  "sometimes  they  come  bad  for  a  long 
time,  and  then  they  come  worse." 

At  this  bit  of  wisdom  J.  Rufus  politely  laughed, 
and  the  silvery  voice  of  Beauty  Phillips  suddenly 
joined  his  own ;  whereupon  J.  Rufus,  taking  the  hint, 
introduced  Mr.  Block  to  Miss  Phillips  and  her 
mother.  Mr.  Block  promptly  sat  down  by  them. 

"I've  heard  a  lot  about  you,"  he  began,  "but  I've 
not  been  around  to  see  The  Pink  Canary  yet.  I  don't 
go  to  the  theater  much." 

"You  must  certainly  see  my  second-act  turn.  I 
sure  have  got  them  going,"  the  Beauty  asserted 
modestly.  "What  do  you  like  in  this  race,  Mr. 
Block?" 


BEAUTY    IN    THE    SPOT-LIGHT     165 

"I  don't  like  anything,"  he  replied  almost  gruffly. 
"I  never  bet  outside  of  my  own  stable." 

"We're  taking  a  small  slice  of  Bologna,"  she  in- 
formed him.  "I  suppose  he's  about  the — the  wurst 
of  the  race.  Guess  that's  bad,  eh  ?  I  made  that  one 
up  all  by  myself,  at  that.  I  think  I'll  write  a  musical 
comedy  next.  But  how  do  you  like  Bologna?"  she 
hastily  added,  her  own  laugh  freezing  as  she  saw 
her  feeble  little  joke  passed  by  in  perplexity. 

"You  never  can  tell,"  he  replied  evasively.  "You 
see,  Miss  Phillips,  I  never  give  out  a  tip.  If  you  bet 
on  it  and  it  don't  win  you  get  sore  against  me.  If 
I  hand  you  a  winner  you'll  tell  two  or  three  people 
that  are  likely  to  beat  me  to  it  and  break  the  price 
before  I  can  get  my  own  money  down." 

Beauty  Phillips'  wide  eyes  narrowed  just  a  trifle. 

"I  guess  it's  all  the  same,"  remarked  J.  Rufus 
resignedly.  "If  you  have  a  hoodoo  over  you  you'll 
lose  anyhow.  I've  tried  to  pick  'em  forty  ways  from 
the  ace.  I've  played  with  the  dope  and  against  it 
and  lost  both  ways.  I've  played  hunches  and  cop- 
pered hunches,  and  lost  both  ways.  I've  played  hot 
information  straight  and  reverse,  and  lost  both  ways. 
I've  nosed  into  the  paddock  and  made  a  lifetime 
hit  with  stable  boys,  jockeys,  trainers,  dockers  and 


1 66  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

even  owners,  but  every  time  they  handed  me  a  sure 
one  I  got  burned.  Any  horse  I  bet  on  turns  into 
a  crawfish." 

The  saddling  bell  rang. 

"You'd  better  hurry  if  you  want  to  get  a  bet  on 
Sausage,"  admonished  the  beautiful  one,  and  J. 
Rufus,  excusing  himself,  made  his  way  down  to  the 
betting-shed,  where  he  was  affectionately  known  as 
The  Big  Pink,  not  only  on  account  of  his  com- 
plexion but  on  account  of  the  huge  carnation  Beauty 
Phillips  pinned  on  him  each  day. 

At  the  first  book  he  handed  up  three  one-hundred- 
dollar  bills. 

"A  century  each  way  on  Bologna,"  he  directed. 

"Welcome  to  our  city!"  greeted  the  red-haired 
man  on  the  stool,  and  then  to  the  ticket  writer: 
"Twelve  hundred  to  a  hundred,  five  hundred  to  a 
hundred,  and  two  hundred  to  a  hundred  on  Bologna 
for  The  Big  Pink.  Johnnie,  you  will  now  rub  prices 
on  Bologna  and  make  him  fifteen,  eight  and  three; 
then  run  around  and  tell  the  other  boys  that  The 
Big  Pink's  on  Bologna,  and  it's  a  pipe  for  the  books 
at  any  odds." 

Wallingford  chuckled  good-naturedly.  In  other 
days  he  would  have  called  that  bit  of  pleasantry  by 


BEAUTY   IN   THE    SPOT-LIGHT     167 

taking  another  hundred  each  way  across,  at  the  new 
odds,  but  now  his  funds  were  too  low. 

"Some  of  these  days,  Sunset,"  he  threatened  the 
man  on  the  stool,  "I'll  win  a  bet  on  you  and  you'll 
drop  dead." 

"I'll  die  rich  if  your  wad  only  holds  out  till 
then,"  returned  Sunset,  laughing. 

With  but  very  little  hope  J.  Rufus  returned  to  the 
grand-stand,  where  royalty  sat  like  a  warm  and 
drowsy  garment  upon  Beauty  Phillips;  for  Beauty 
was  on  the  stage  a  queen,  and  outside  of  working- 
hours  a  princess.  Jake  Block  was  still  there,  and 
making  himself  agreeable  to  a  degree  that  surprised 
even  himself,  and  he  was  there  yet  when  Bologna, 
true  to  form,  came  home  contentedly  following  the 
field.  He  joined  them  again  at  the  close  of  the 
sixth  race,  when  Carnation,  a  horse  which  the 
Beauty  had  picked  because  of  his  name,  was 
just  nosed  out  of  the  money,  and  he  walked  with 
them  down  to  the  carriage  gate.  As  Block  seemed 
reluctant  to  leave,  he  was  invited  to  ride  into  the 
city  in  the  automobile  J.  Rufus  had  hired  by  the 
month,  and  accepted  that  invitation  with  alacrity. 
He  also  accepted  their  invitation  to  dinner,  and  dur- 
ing that  meal  he  observed : 


1 68  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"I  think,  Miss  Phillips,  I'll  go  around  and  see  The 
Pink  Canary  to-night,  and  after  the  show  I'd  like 
to  have  you  and  your  mother  and  Wallingford  take 
supper  with  me,  if  you  have  no  other  engagement." 

"Sure,"  said  Beauty  Phillips,  too  eagerly  for 
Wallingford's  entire  comfort ;  and  so  it  was  settled. 

Wallingford,  although  he  had  seen  the  show  until 
it  made  him  deathly  weary,  went  along  and  sat  with 
Block  in  a  stage  box.  During  one  of  the  dull  spots 
the  horseman  turned  to  his  companion  very  sud- 
denly. 

"This  Beauty  Phillips  could  carry  an  awful  handi- 
cap and  still  take  the  Derby  purse,"  he  announced. 
"She  beats  any  filly  of  her  hands  and  age  I  ever  saw 
on  a  card." 

"She  certainly  does,"  assented  J.  Rufus,  suave 
without,  but  irritated  within. 

"I  see  you  training  around  with  her  all  through 
the  meet.  Steady  company,  I  guess." 

"Oh,  we're  very  good  friends ;  that's  all,"  replied 
Wallingford  with  such  nonchalance  as  he  could 
muster. 

"Nothing  in  earnest,  then?" 

"Not  a  thing." 


BEAUTY    IN    THE    SPOT-LIGHT     169 

"Then  I  believe  I  will  enter  the  handicap  myself, 
that  is  if  you  don't  think  you  can  haul  down  the 
purse." 

"Go  in  and  win,"  laughed  J.  Rufus,  concealing  his 
trace  of  self-humiliation.  He  had  no  especial  in- 
terest in  Beauty  Phillips,  but  he  did  not  exactly  like 
to  have  her  taken  away  from  him.  It  was  too  much 
in  evidence  that  he  was  a  loser.  However,  he  was 
distinctly  "down  and  out"  just  now,  for  Beauty 
Phillips  quite  palpably  exerted  her  fascinations  in 
the  direction  of  that  box,  and  Jake  Block  was  most 
obviously  "hooked;"  so  much  so  that  at  supper  he 
revealed  his  interest  most  unmistakably,  and  parted 
from  them  reluctantly  at  the  curb,  feeling  silly  but 
quite  determined. 

Wallingford  made  no  allusion  to  Miss  Phillips' 
capture  of  the  horseman,  even  after  they  had  reached 
the  flat,  where  he  had  gained  the  rare  privilege  of 
calling,  and  where  the  Beauty's  "mother"  always 
remained  in  the  parlor  with  them,  awake  or  asleep. 

Rather  sheepishly,  J.  Rufus  produced  from  his 
pocket  a  newspaper  clipping  of  the  following  seduc- 
tive advertisement,  which  he  passed  over  to  the 
Beauty : 


1 70  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

BOSTON. 

Yesterday  we  slipped  across,  for  the  benefit  of 
our  happy  New  York  and  Brooklyn  subscribers,  that 
juicy  watermelon,  Breezy,  a  ten  to  one  shot  and  the 
play  on  this  section  of  hot  dog  was  so  strong  it  put 
a  crimp  in  the  bookies  as  deep  as  the  water  jump. 
To-morrow  we  have  another  lallapalooza  at  long 
odds  that  will  waft  under  the  wire  and  have  the 
blanket  on  about  the  time  the  field  is  kicking  dust  at 
the  barrier.  This  peacherino  has  been  under  cover 
throughout  the  meeting,  but  to-morrow  it  will  be 
ripe  and  you  want  to  get  in  on  the  killing. 

Will  wire  you  the  name  of  this  pippin  for  five 
dollars ;  full  service  twenty  dollars  a  week. 

NATIONAL  CLOCKERS'  ASSOCIATION. 

"I  fell  for  this,"  he  explained,  after  she  had  read 
it  with  a  sarcastic  smile ;  "poked  a  fi'muth  in  a  letter 
cold,  and  let  'em  have  it." 

The  Beautiful  One  regarded  him  with  pity. 

"Honest,  Pinky,"  she  commented,  "your  soft 
spot's  growing.  If  you  don't  watch  out  the  special- 
ists'll  get  you.  Do  you  suppose  that  if  these  cheap 
touts  had  such  hot  info,  as  that,  they'd  peddle  it 
out,  in  place  of  going  down  to  the  track  and  coming 
back  with  all  the  money  in  the  world  in  their  jeans?" 

"Sure  not,"  said  he  patiently.  "They  don't  know 
any  more  about  it  than  the  men  who  write  the  form 
sheets ;  but  we've  tried  everything  from  stable-dope 


BEAUTY    IN    THE    SPOT-LIGHT     171 

to  dreaming  numbers  and  can't  get  one  of  them  to 
run  for  us.  So  I'm  taking  a  chance  that  the  National 
Strong  Arm  Association  might  shut  their  eyes  in  the 
dark  and  happen  to  pass  me  the  right  name  without 
meaning  it." 

"There's  some  sense  to  that,"  admitted  the  Beauty 
reflectively.  "You'll  get  the  first  wire  to-morrow 
morning,  won't  you?  Just  my  luck.  It's  matinee 
day  and  I'd  like  to  see  you  try  it." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  J.  Rufus.  "I'll  have  the 
money  to  show  you  as  a  surprise  at  dinner." 

The  Beauty  hesitated. 

"I — I'm  engaged  for  dinner  to-morrow,"  she 
stated,  half  reluctantly. 

He  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Block?    That  means  supper,  too." 

"Yes.  You  see,  Jimmy,  I've  just  got  to  give  'em 
all  a  try-out." 

"Of  course,"  he  admitted.  "But  he  won't  do. 
I'll  bet  you  a  box  of  gloves  against  a  box  of  cigars." 

"I  won't  bet  you,"  she  replied,  laughing.  "I've 
got  a  hunch  that  I'd  lose." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHEREIN   THE   BROADWAY    QUARTET   EVENS   UP   AN 
OLD  SCORE 

AT  his  hotel  the  next  day,  about  noon,  J.  Rufus 
got  the  promised  wire.     It  consisted  of  only 
one  word:  "Razzoo." 

Alone,  J.  Rufus  went  out  to  the  track,  and  on  the 
race  in  which  Razzoo  was  entered  at  average  odds 
of  ten  to  one,  he  got  down  six  hundred  dollars,  re- 
luctantly holding  back,  for  his  hotel  bill,  three  hun- 
dred dollars — all  he  had  in  the  world.  Then  he  shut 
his  eyes,  and  with  large  self -contempt  waited  for 
Razzoo  to  finish  by  lamplight.  To  his  immense 
surprise  Razzoo  won  by  two  lengths,  and  with  a 
contented  chuckle  he  went  around  to  the  various 
books  and  collected  his  winnings,  handing  to  each 
bookmaker  derogatory  remarks  calculated  to  destroy 
the  previous  entente  cordiale. 

On  his  way  out,  puffed  with  huge  joy  and  sitting 
alone  in  the  big  automobile,  he  was  hailed  by  a 
familiar  voice. 

172 


AN    OLD    SCORE    EVENED    UP      173 

"Well,  well,  well!  Our  old  friend,  J.  Rufus!" 
exclaimed  Harry  Phelps,  he  of  the  natty  clothes  and 
the  curly  hair. 

With  Mr.  Phelps  were  Larry  Teller  and  Billy 
Banting  and  Yap  Pickins. 

"Jump  in,"  invited  J.  Rufus  with  a  commendable 
spirit,  forgiving  them  cheerfully  for  having  lost 
money  to  him,  and,  despite  the  growl  of  protest 
from  lean  Short-Card  Larry,  they  invaded  the  ton- 
neau. 

"You  must  be  hitting  them  up  some,  Walling- 
ford," observed  Mr.  Phelps  with  a  trace  of  envy. 
"I  know  they're  not  furnishing  automobiles  to  losers 
these  days." 

"Oh,  I'm  doing  fairly  well,"  replied  Wallingford 
loftily.  "I  cleaned  'em  up  for  six  thousand  to-day." 

The  envy  on  the  part  of  the  four  was  almost  au- 
dible. 

"What  did  you  play?"  asked  Badger  Billy,  with 
the  eager  post-mortem  interest  of  a  loser. 

"Only  one  horse  in  just  one  race,"  explained 
Wallingford.  "Razzoo." 

"Razzoo !"  snorted  Short-Card  Larry.  "Was  you 
in  on  that  assassination?  Why,  that  goat  hasn't 
won  a  race  since  the  day  before  Adam  ate  the  apple, 


174  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

and  the  jockey  he  had  on  to-day  couldn't  put  up  a 
good  ride  on  a  street  car.  How  did  you  happen  to 
land  on  it?" 

Blandly  Wallingford  produced  the  telegram  he 
had  received  that  morning. 

"This  wire,"  he  condescendingly  explained,  "is 
from  the  National  dockers'  Association  of  Boston, 
Massachusetts,  United  States  of  America,  who  are 
charitable  enough  to  pass  out  long-shot  winners,  at 
the  mere  bag-o'-shells  service-price  of  five  dollars 
per  day  or  twenty  per  week." 

They  looked  from  the  magic  word  "Razzoo"  to 
the  smiling  face  of  J.  Rufus  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger. 

"And  they  happened  to  hand  you  a  winner !"  said 
the  cadaverous  Mr.  Teller,  folding  the  telegram 
dexterously  with  the  long,  lean  fingers  of  one  hand, 
and  passing  it  back  as  if  he  hated  to  see  it. 

"Winner  is  right,"  agreed  J.  Rufus.  "I  couldn't 
pick  'em  any  other  way,  and  I  took  a  chance  on  this 
game  because  it's  just  as  good  a  system  as  going  to 
a  clairvoyant  or  running  the  cards." 

There  was  a  short  laugh  from  the  raw-boned  Mr. 
Pickins. 

"I  don't  suppose  they'll  ever  do  it  again,"  lie  ob- 


AN    OLD    SCORE    EVENED   UP      175 

served,  "but  I  feel  almost  like  taking  a  chance  on 
it  myself." 

"Go  to  it,"  advised  J.  Rufus  heartily.  "Go  to  it, 
and  come  home  with  something  substantial  in  your 
pocket,  like  this,"  and  most  brazenly,  even  in  the 
face  of  what  he  knew  of  them,  young  Wallingford 
flaunted  before  their  very  eyes  an  assorted  package 
of  orange-colored  bank-bills,  well  calculated  to  ex- 
cite discord  in  this  company.  "Lovely  little  package 
of  documents,"  he  said  banteringly;  "and  I  suppose 
you  burglars  are  already  figuring  how  you  can 
chisel  it  away  from  me." 

They  smiled  wanly,  and  the  smile  of  Larry  Teller 
showed  his  teeth. 

"No  man  ever  pets  a  hornet  but  once,"  said  Billy, 
the  only  one  sturdy  enough  to  voice  his  discomfiture. 

Wallingford  beamed  over  this  tribute  to  his 
prowess. 

"Well,  you  get  a  split  of  it,  anyhow,"  he  offered. 
"I'll  take  you  all  to  dinner,  then  afterward  we'll 
have  a  little  game  of  stud  poker  if  you  like — with 
police  interference  barred." 

They  were  about  to  decline  this  kind  invitation 
when  Short-Card  Larry  turned  suddenly  to  him, 
with  a  gleam  of  the  teeth  which  was  almost  a  snarl. 


i  ;6  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"We'll  take  you,"  he  said.  "Just  a  little  friendly 
game  for  small  stakes." 

J.  Rufus  elevated  his  eyebrows  a  trifle,  but  smiled. 
Inwardly  he  felt  perfectly  competent  to  protect  him- 
self. 

"Fine  business,"  he  assented.  "Suppose  we  have 
dinner  in  my  rooms.  I'm  beginning  to  get  them 
educated  at  my  hotel." 

At  the  hotel  he  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  curb 
to  give  his  chauffeur  some  instructions,  while  the 
other  four  awaited  him  on  the  steps. 

"How'd  you  come  to  fall  for  this  stud  game, 
Larry?"  inquired  Phelps.  "I  can't  see  poker  merely 
for  health,  and  this  Willy  Wisdom  won't  call  any 
raise  of  over  two  dollars  when  he's  playing  with 
us." 

"I  know  he  won't,"  snapped  Larry,  setting  his 
jaws  savagely,  "but  we're  going  to  get  his  money 
just  the  same.  Billy,  you  break  away  and  run  down 
to  Joe's  drug-store  for  the  K.  O." 

They  all  grinned,  with  the  light  of  admiration 
dawning  in  their  eyes  for  Larry  Teller.  "K.  O." 
was  cipher  for  "knock-out  drops,"  a  pleasant  little 
decoction  guaranteed  to  put  a  victim  into  fathomless 
slumber,  but  not  to  kill  him  if  his  heart  was  right. 


AN   OLD    SCORE   EVENED   UP      177 

"How  long  will  it  be  until  dinner's  ready,  Wall- 
ingford?"  asked  Billy,  looking  at  his  watch  as  J. 
Rufus  came  up. 

"Oh,  about  an  hour,  I  suppose." 

"Good,"  said  Billy.  "I'll  just  have  time.  I  have 
to  go  get  some  money  that  a  fellow  promised  me, 
and  if  I  don't  see  him  to-night  I  may  not  see  him  at 
all.  Besides,  I'll  probably  need  it  if  you  play  your 
usual  game." 

"Nothing  doing,"  replied  Wallingford.  "I  only 
want  to  yammer  you  fellows  out  of  a  hundred 
apiece,  and  the  game  will  be  as  quiet  as  a  peddler's 
pup." 

J.  Rufus  conducted  the  others  into  the  sitting- 
room  of  his  suite  and  sent  for  a  waiter.  There  was 
never  any  point  lacking  in  Wallingford's  hospitality, 
and  by  the  time  Billy  came  back  he  was  ready  to 
serve  them  a  dinner  that  was  worth  discussing.  The 
dinner  despatched,  he  had  the  table  cleared  and 
brought  out  cards  and  chips.  It  was  a  quiet,  com- 
fortable game  for  nearly  an  hour,  with  very  mild 
betting  and  plenty  to  drink.  It  was  during  the  fifth 
bottle  of  wine,  dating  from  the  beginning  of  the 
dinner,  that  Short-Card  Larry,  by  a  dexterous  acci- 
dent, pitched  Wallingford's  stack  of  chips  on  the 


178  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

floor  with  a  toss  of  the  deck.  Amid  the  profuse 
apologies  of  Larry,  Mr.  Phelps,  who  was  at  Wall- 
ingford's  left,  stooped  down  to  help  that  gentleman 
pick  up  his  chips,  and  in  that  moment  Badger  Billy 
quietly  emptied  the  colorless  contents  of  a  tiny  vial 
in  Wallingford's  glass.  J.  Rufus  never  was  able  to 
remember  what  happened  after  that. 

Silk  pa  jama  clad,  but  still  wearing  portions  of  his 
day  attire,  he  awoke  next  day  with  a  headache,  and 
a  tongue  that  felt  like  a  shredded-wheat  biscuit.  He 
held  his  head  very  level  to  keep  the  leaden  weight 
in  the  top  of  it  from  sliding  around  and  bumping  his 
skull,  and  opened  the  swollen  slits  that  did  him 
painful  duty  for  eyelids  wide  enough  to  let  him  find 
the  telephone,  througn  which  instrument  he  ordered 
a  silver-fizz.  Of  the  butler  who  brought  it  he  asked 
what  time  it  was. 

"One  o'clock,  sir,"  replied  the  butler  with  the  ut- 
most gravity. 

One  o'clock!  J.  Rufus  pondered  the  matter 
slowly. 

"Morning  or  afternoon,"  he  huskily  asked. 

"Afternoon,  sir,"  and  this  time  the  butler  per- 
mitted himself  the  slightest  trace  of  a  smile  as  he 


AN   OLD    SCORE    EVENED   UP      179 

noted  the  electric  lights,  still  blazing  in  sickly  de- 
fiance of  the  bright  sunshine  which  crept  in  around 
the  edges  of  the  double  blinds. 

"Huh !"  grunted  J.  Rufus,  and  pondered  more. 

Half  dozing,  he  stood,  glass  in  hand,  for  full  five 
minutes,  while  the  butler,  with  a  lively  appreciation 
of  tips  past  and  to  come,  stood  patiently  holding  his 
little  silver  tray,  with  check  and  pencil  waiting  for 
the  signature.  At  the  expiration  of  that  time,  how- 
ever, the  butler  coughed  once,  gently;  once,  nor- 
mally; the  third  time  very  loudly.  These  means 
failing,  he  dropped  the  tray  clattering  to  the  floor, 
and  with  a  cheerful  "Beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  picked 
it  up.  Not  knowing  that  he  had  been  asleep  again, 
Wallingford  took  a  sip  of  the  refreshing  drink  and 
walked  across  to  a  garment  which  lay  upon  the 
chair,  feeling  through  the  pockets  one  after  the 
other.  In  one  pocket  there  was  a  little  silver,  but 
in  the  others  nothing.  He  gave  a  coin  to  the  butler 
and  signed  tbe  check  in  deep  thoughtfulness,  then 
sat  down  heavily  and  dozed  another  fifteen  minutes. 
Awakening,  he  found  the  glass  at  his  hand  on  the 
serving-bench,  and  drank  about  a  fourth  of  the  con- 
tents very  slowly. 

"Spiked!"  he  groaned  aloud, 


i8o    •        YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

He  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  his  wine  had 
been  "doctored,"  for  never  before  had  anything  he 
drank  affected  him  like  this.  Another  glance  at  the 
garment  of  barren  pockets  reminded  him  to  look 
about  for  the  coat  and  vest  he  had  worn  the  night 
before.  They  were  not  visible  in  his  bedroom,  and, 
still  carrying  the  glass  of  life-saving  mixture  with 
him,  he  made  his  way  into  his  sitting-room  and  sur- 
veyed the  wreck.  On  the  table  was  a  confusion  of 
cards  and  chips,  and  around  its  edge  stood  five  cham- 
pagne glasses,  two  of  them  empty,  two  half  full, 
one  full.  Against  the  wall  stood  a  row  of  four 
empty  quart  bottles.  In  an  ice  pail,  filled  now  with 
but  tepid  water,  there  reposed  a  fifth  bottle,  neck 
downward.  Five  chairs  were  grouped  unevenly 
about  the  table,  one  of  them  overturned  and  the 
others  left  at  random  where  they  had  been  pushed 
back.  The  lights  here,  also,  were  still  burning. 
Heaped  on  a  chair  in  the  corner  were  the  coat  and 
vest  he  sought,  and  he  went  through  their  pockets 
methodically,  reaching  first  for  his  wallet.  It  was 
perfectly  clean  inside.  In  one  of  the  vest-pockets  he 
found  a  soiled,  very  much  crumpled  two-dollar  bill, 
and  the  first  stiff  smile  of  his  waking  stretched  his 
lips. 


AN    OLD    SCORE    EVENED    UP      181 

"I  wonder  how  they  overlooked  this?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

Again  his  eyes  turned  musingly  to  those  five 
empty  bottles,  and  again  the  conviction  was  borne 
in  upon  him  that  the  wine  had  been  drugged.  Under 
no  circumstances  could  his  share,  even  an  unequal 
share,  of  five  bottles  of  champagne  among  five  per- 
sons have  worked  this  havoc  in  him. 

"Spiked,"  he  concluded  again  in  a  tone  of  resigna- 
tion. "At  last  they  got  to  me." 

The  silver-fizz  was  flat  now,  but  every  sip  of  it 
was  nevertheless  full  of  reviving  grace,  and  he  sat 
in  the  big  leather  rocker  to  think  things  over.  As 
he  did  so  his  eye  caught  something  that  made  him 
start  from  his  chair  so  suddenly  that  he  had  to  put 
both  hands  to  his  head.  Under  the  table  was  a  bit 
of  light  orange  paper.  A  fifty-dollar  bill !  In  that 
moment — that  is,  after  he  had  painfully  stooped 
down  to  get  it  and  had  smoothed  it  out  to  assure 
himself  that  it  was  real — this  beautifully  printed 
government  certificate  looked  to  him  about  the  size 
of  a  piano  cover.  An  instant  before,  disaster  had 
stared  him  in  the  face.  This  was  but  Thursday 
morning,  and,  having  paid  his  hotel  bill  on  Monday, 
he  had  the  balance  of  the  week  to  go  on;  but  for 


182  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

that  week  he  would  have  been  chained  to  this  hotel. 
Now  he  was  foot-loose,  now  he  was  free,  and  his 
first  thought  was  of  his  only  possible  resource, 
Blackie  Daw,  in  Boston ! 

It  took  two  hours  of  severe  labor  on  the  part 
of  a  valet,  two  bell-boys  and  a  barber  to  turn  the 
Wallingford  wreck  into  his  usual  well-groomed  self, 
but  the  hour  of  sailing  saw  him  somnolently,  but 
safely  ensconced  on  a  Boston  packet. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    BROADWAY    QUARTET    CONTINUES    TO    TAKE 
WALLINGFORD'S  MONEY 

BLACKIE  DAW'S  most  recent  Boston  address 
had  been :  "Yellow  Streak  Mining  Company, 
Seven  Hundred  and  Ten  Marabon  Building,"  and 
yet  when  J.  Rufus  paused  before  number  seven  hun- 
dred and  ten  of  that  building  he  found  its  glass  door 
painted  with  the  sign  of  the  National  dockers'  As- 
sociation. Worried  by  the  fact  that  Blackie  had 
moved,  yet  struck  by  the  peculiar  coincidence  of  his 
place  being  occupied  by  the  concern  that  had  given 
him  the  tip  on  Razzoo,  he  walked  into  the  office  to 
inquire  the  whereabouts  of  his  friend.  He  found 
three  girls  at  a  long  table,  slitting  open  huge  piles 
of  envelopes  and  removing  from  them  money,  postal 
orders  and  checks — mostly  money,  for  the  sort  of 
people  who  patronized  the  National  dockers'  Asso- 
ciation were  quite  willing  to  "take  a  chance"  on  a 
five-  or  a  twenty-dollar  bill  in  the  mails.  Behind 


184  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

a  newspaper,  in  a  big  leather  chair  near  a  flat-top 
mahogany  desk,  with  his  feet  conveniently  elevated 
on  the  waste-basket,  sat  a  gentleman  who,  when  he 
moved  the  paper  aside  to  see  whom  his  visitor  might 
be,  proved  to  be  Blackie  Daw  himself. 

"Hello,  none  other  than  the  friend  of  me  child- 
hood !"  exclaimed  Blackie,  springing  to  his  feet  and 
extending  his  hand.  "What  brings  you  here?" 

"Broke,"  replied  Wallingford  briefly.  "They 
cleaned  me.  Got  any  money  ?" 

Mr.  Daw  opened  the  top  drawer  of  his  desk,  and 
it  proved  to  be  nearly  full  of  bills,  thrown  loosely  in, 
with  no  attempt  at  order  or  sorting.  "Money's  the 
cheapest  thing  in  Boston,"  he  announced,  waving 
his  hand  carelessly  over  the  contents  of  the  drawer. 
"Help  yourself,  old  man.  The  New  York  mail 
will  bring  in  plenty  more.  They've  had  two  win- 
ners there  this  week,  and  when  it  does  fall  for  any- 
thing, N'Yawk's  the  biggest  yap  town  on  earth." 

Wallingford,  having  drawn  up  a  chair  with  alac- 
rity, was  already  sorting  bills,  smoothing  them  out 
and  counting  them  off  in  hundreds. 

"And  all  on  pure  charity — picking  out  winning 
horses  for  your  customers !"  laughed  Wallingford. 
"This  is  a  real  gold  mine  you've  hit  at  last." 


TAKING    HIS    MONEY  185 

"Pretty  good,"  agreed  Blackie.  "I'd  have  enough 
to  start  a  mint  of  my  own  if  I  didn't  lose  so  much 
playing  the  races." 

"You  don't  play  your  own  tips,  I  hope,"  ex- 
postulated Wallingford,  pausing  to  inspect  a  tattered 
bill. 

"I  should  say  not,"  returned  Daw  with  emphasis. 
"If  I  did  that  I'd  have  to  play  every  horse  in  every 
race.  You  see,  every  day  I  wire  the  name  of  one 
horse  to  all  my  subscribers  in  Philadelphia,  another 
to  Baltimore,  another  to  Washington,  and  so  on 
down  the  list.  One  of  those  horses  has  to  win.  Sup- 
pose I  pick  out  the  horse  Roller  Skate  for  Phila- 
delphia. Well,  if  Roller  skates  home  that  day  I 
advertise  in  the  Philadelphia  papers  the  next  morn- 
ing, and,  besides  that,  every  fall-easy  that  got  the 
tip  advertises  me  to  some  of  his  friends,  and  they  all 
spike  themselves  to  send  in  money  for  the  dope.  Oh, 
it's  a  great  game,  all  right." 

"It's  got  yegging  frazzled  to  a  pulp,"  agreed  Wall- 
ingford. "But  I  oughtn't  to  yell  police.  I  got  the 
lucky  word  my  first  time  out.  I  played  Razzoo 
and  cleaned  up  six  thousand  dollars  on  the  strength 
of  your  wire." 

"Go  on!"  returned  Blackie  delightedly.     "You 


i86  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

don't  mean  to  say  you're  sorting  some  of  your  own 
money  there  ?" 

"I  sure  am,"  laughed  Wallingford,  picking  up  a 
five-dollar  bill.  "I  think  this  must  be  it.  What's 
the  New  York  horse  to-day  ?" 

Blackie  consulted  a  list  that  lay  on  his  desk. 

"Whipsaw,"  he  said. 

"Whipsaw!  By  George,  Blackie,  if  there's  any 
one  thing  I'd  like  to  do,  it'd  be  to  whipsaw  some 
friends  of  yours  on  Broadway."  Whereupon  he 
told  Blackie,  with  much  picturesque  embellishment, 
just  how  Messrs.  Phelps,  Teller,  Banting  and  Pick- 
ins  had  managed  to  annex  the  Razzoo  money. 

Blackie  enjoyed  that  recital  very  much. 

"The  Broadway  Syndicate  is  still  on  the  job,"  he 
commented.  "Well,  J.  Rufus,  let  this  teach  you 
how  to  take  a  joke  next  time." 

"I'm  not  saying  a  word,"  replied  Wallingford. 
"Any  time  I  let  a  kindergarten  crowd  like  that  work 
a  trick  on  me  that  was  invented  right  after  Noah 
discovered  spoiled  grape  juice,  I  owe  myself  a  month 
in  jail.  But  watch  me.  I'll  make  moccasitis  out 
of  their  hides,  all  right." 

"Go  right  ahead,  old  man,  and  see  if  I  care," 


TAKING   HIS    MONEY  187 

consented  Blackie.  "Slam  the  harpoon  into  them 
and  twist  it." 

"I  will,"  asserted  Wallingford  confidently.  "I 
don't  like  them  because  they're  grouches;  I  don't 
like  them  because  they're  cheap;  I  don't  like  their 
names,  nor  their  faces,  nor  the  town  they  live  in. 
Making  money  in  New  York's  too  much  like  sixteen 
hungry  bulldogs  to  one  bone.  The  best  dog  gets  it, 
but  he  finishes  too  weak  for  an  appetite.  What  kind 
of  a  horse  is  this  Whipsaw  you're  sending  out  to- 
day?" 

"I  don't  know.  Where's  the  dope  on  Whipsaw, 
Tillie?" 

A  girl  with  a  freckled  face  and  a  keen  eye-  and  a 
saucy  air  went  over  to  the  filing-case  and  searched 
out  a  piece  of  cardboard  a  foot  square.  Blackie 
glanced  over  it  with  an  experienced  eye. 

"Maiden,"  said  he;  "been  in  four  races,  and  the 
best  he  ever  did  was  fourth  in  a  bunch  of  goats  that 
only  ambled  all  the  way  around  the  track  because 
that  was  the  only  way  they  could  get  back  to  the 
stable." 

The  mail  carrier  just  then  came  in  with  a  huge 
bundle  of  letters. 


i88  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"New  York  mail,"  observed  Blackie.  "After 
that  Razzoo  thing  it  ought  to  be  rich  pickings." 

"Pickings !"  exclaimed  J.  Rufus,  struck  by  a  sud- 
den idea.  "See  if  Pickins  or  Teller  or  any  of  that 
crowd  have  contributed.  Pickins  said  they  were 
going  to  try  it  out,  just  to  see  if  lightning  could 
really  strike  twice  in  the  same  place." 

Blackie  wrote  a  number  of  names  on  a  slip  of 
paper  and  handed  it  to  Tillie. 

"Look  for  these  names  in  the  mail,"  he  directed, 
"and  if  a  subscription  comes  in  from  any  one  of 
them  let  me  know  it." 

Wallingford  had  idly  picked  up  the  card  contain- 
ing Whipsaw's  record. 

It  was  a  most  accurate  typewritten  sheet,  giving 
age,  pedigree,  description  and  detailed  action  in 
every  race ;  but  the  point  that  caught  Wallingf ord's 
eye  was  the  name  of  the  owner. 

"One  of  Jake  Block's  horses,  by  George !"  he  said, 
and  fell  into  silent  musing  from  which  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  girl,  who  was  laughing. 

"Here's  your  party,"  she  said  to  Blackie,  handing 
him  an  envelope.  "This  twenty's  in  it,  and  I  think 
it's  bad  money." 


TAKING   HIS   MONEY  189 

Blackie  passed  the  bill  to  Wallingford,  who 
slipped  it  through  experienced  fingers. 

"You  couldn't  pass  this  one  on  an  organ-grinder's 
monkey,"  he  said,  chuckling.  "But  that's  all  right; 
just  put  'em  on  the  wiring-list,  anyhow.  Make  'em 
lose  their  money.  It's  the  only  way  you  can  get 
even." 

The  girl  looked  to  Blackie  for  instructions,  and 
he  nodded  his  head. 

"Who  sent  it?"  asked  Wallingford  idly. 

"Peters  is  the  name  signed  here,"  replied  Blackie. 
"That  means  Harry  Phelps.  I  gave  Tillie  all  the 
aliases  this  bunch  of  crimples  carry  around  with 
them,  knowing  they'd  probably  send  it  in  that  way." 

Wallingford  nodded  comprehendingly. 

"They'd  rather  do  even  the  square  thing  crooked. 
Well,  you  know  what  to  do." 

"I'll  send  them  special  picks,"  declared  Blackie 
with  a  grin.  "Nothing  but  a  list  of  crabs  that  would 
come  in  third  in  a  two-horse  race.  But  come  on 
outside ;  we're  too  far  from  cracked  ice,"  and  grab- 
bing an  uncounted  handful  of  bills  from  the  drawer 
of  his  desk,  Blackie  stuffed  them  in  his  pocket  and 
led  the  way  out. 


190  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

It  was  at  luncheon  that  Blackie  made  his  first 
protest. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  J.  Rufus?"  he  de- 
manded. "I  never  saw  you  insult  food  and  drink 
before." 

"I'm  thinking,"  returned  Wallingford  solemnly. 
"I  hate  to  do  it,  for  it  interferes  with  my  appetite; 
but  here's  a  case  where  I  must.  I  have  got  to  put 
one  over  on  that  Broadway  bunch  or  lose  my  self- 
respect." 

That  evening,  on  the  way  down  to  the  boat,  their 
feet  cocked  comfortably  on  the  opposite  seat  of  a 
cab,  Wallingford  formulated  a  more  or  less  vague 
plan. 

"Tell  you  what  you  do,  Blackie.."  he  directed; 
"you  send  to  Phelps  and  to  me,  until  I  give  you  the 
word,  a  daily  tip  on  sure  losers.  In  the  meantime, 
bank  all  your  money,  and  don't  make  a  bet  on  any 
race." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  Blackie 
curiously. 

"Land  a  sure  winner  for  us  and  a  loser  for  the 
Broadway  Syndicate.  Hold  yourself  ready  when 
I  wire  you  to  take  a  quick  train  for  my  hotel,  loaded 
down  with  all  the  money  you  can  grab  together." 


TAKING   HIS   MONEY  191 

"Fine!"  returned  Blackie.  "You  wire  me  that 
it's  all  fixed,  and  when  I  start  for  New  York  there'll 
be  a  financial  stringency  in  Boston." 

Returning  to  New  York,  Wallingford  caught 
Beauty  Phillips  at  breakfast  about  noon,  and  in  a 
most  charming  morning  gown,  for  the  Beauty  was 
consistent  enough  to  be  neat  even  when  there  was 
none  but  "mother"  to  see. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Mark,  from  Easyville,"  she  hailed 
him.  "I  heard  all  about  you." 

"You  did !"  he  demanded,  surprised.  "Who  told 
you?" 

"Phelps  and  Banting,"  she  said.  "They  had  the 
nerve  to  come  up  in  the  grand-stand  yesterday  and 
tell  Mr.  Block  and  me  all  about  it;  told  me  how 
much  you  won  anil  how  they  got  it  away  from  you 
at  poker." 

"Did  they  tell  you  they  put  knock-out  drops  in 
my  wine?"  demanded  Wallingford. 

"They  didn't  do  that !"  she  protested. 

"Exactly  what  they  did.  Whether  we  played 
poker  afterward,  I  don't  know.  I'd  just  as  soon  as 
not  believe  they  went  through  my  pockets." 

"I  wouldn't  put  it  past  them  a  bit,"  she  agreed, 
and  then  her  indignation  began  to  grow.  "Say,  ain't 


192  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

it  a  shame!  Now,  if  I  hadn't  gone  out  to  dinner 
with  Mr.  Block,  you'd  have  been  with  me.  I'd  have 
had  that  lovely  diamond  brooch  you  promised  me 
out  of  your  first  winnings,  and  we'd  have  had  all 
the  rest  of  it  to  bet  with  for  a  few  days.  Honest, 
Pinky,  I  feel  as  if  it  were  my  fault!" 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that,"  Wallingford  cor- 
dially reassured  her.  "It  was  my  own  fault ;  but  I 
wasn't  looking  for  anything  worse  than  a  knife  in 
my  back  or  a  piece  of  lead  pipe  behind  the  ear. 
There's  no  use  in  crying  over  spilled  milk.  The 
thing  to  do  now  is  to  get  even,  and  I  want  you  to 
help  me." 

"Don't  you  mix  in,  Beauty,"  admonished  the  hired 
mother,  but  the  Beauty  was  thoughtful  for  a  while. 
"Mother"  was  there  to  give  good  advice,  but  the 
Beauty  only  took  it  if  she  liked  it. 

"I  really  can't  afford  it,"  she  said,  by  and  by; 
"but  I've  got  some  principles  about  me,  and  I  don't 
like  to  see  a  good  sport  like  you  take  a  rough  dose 
from  a  lot  of  cheaps  like  them ;  so  you  show  me  how 
and  I'll  mix  in  just  this  once." 

Wallingford  hesitated  in  turn. 

"How  do  you  like  Block?"  he  inquired. 

Beauty  Phillips  sniffed  her  dainty  nose  in  disdain. 


TAKING   HIS   MONEY  193 

"He  won't  do,"  she  announced  with  decision. 
"I've  found  out  all  about  him.  He's  got  enough 
money  to  star  me  in  a  show  of  my  own  for  the 
next  ten  years,  but  he's  not  furnished  with  the  brand 
of  manners  I  like.  I'll  never  marry  a  man  I  can't 
stand.  I've  got  a  few  principles  about  me!  Why, 
yesterday  he  tried  to  treat  me  real  lovely,  but  do  you 
know,  he  wouldn't  give  me  the  name  of  a  horse, 
even  when  he  put  a  hundred  down  for  me  in  the 
third  race?  There  I  sat,  with  a  string  of  'em  just 
prancing  around  the  track,  and  not  one  to  pull  for. 
Then  after  the  race  is  over  he  comes  and  tosses  me 
five  hundred  dollars.  'I  got  you  four  to  one  on  the 
winner,'  says  he.  Why,  it  was  just  like  giving  me 
money!  Jimmy,  I'm  going  out  to  dinner  with  him 
to-night,  then  I'm  going  to  turn  him  back  into  the 
paddock,  and  you  can  pal  around  with  me  again 
until  I  find  a  man  with  plenty  of  money  that  I  could 
really  love." 

"Don't  spill  the  beans,"  advised  Wallingford 
hastily.  "Block  thinks  you're  about  the  maple  cus- 
tard, don't  he?" 

"He's  crazy  about  me,"  confessed  the  Beauty 
complacently. 

"Fine  work.   Well,  just  you  string  him  along  till 


104  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

he  gives  you  the  name  of  a  sure  winner  in  advance ; 
jolly  it  out  of  him." 

"Not  on  your  three-sheet  litho!"  negatived  the 
Beauty.  "I  never  yet  worked  one  mash  against  an- 
other. I  guess  you'd  expect  to  play  even  on  that  tip, 
eh?" 

"Sure,  we'll  play  it,"  admitted  Wallingford ;  "but 
better  than  that,  I'll  shred  this  Harry  Phelps  crowd 
so  clean  they'll  have  to  borrow  car  fare." 

She  thought  on  this  possibility  with  sparkling 
eyes.  She  was  against  the  "Phelps  crowd"  on  prin- 
ciple. Also — well,  Wallingford  had  always  been  a 
perfect  gentleman. 

"Are  you  sure  you  can  do  it?"  she  wanted  to 
know. 

"It's  all  framed  up,"  he  asserted  confidently;  "all 
I  want  is  the  name  of  that  winner." 

The  Beauty  considered  the  matter  seriously,  and 
in  the  end  silently  shook  hands  with  him.  The  pro 
tern.  Mrs.  Phillips  sniffed. 

This  was  on  a  Saturday,  a  matinee  day,  and  Wall- 
ingford went  out  to  the  track  alone,  contenting  him- 
self with  extremely  small  bets,  merely  to  keep  his 
interest  alive.  The  day's  racing  was  half  over  be- 
fore he  ran  across  the  Broadway  Syndicate.  They 


TAKING    HIS    MONEY  195 

were  heartily  glad  to  see  him.  They  greeted  him 
with  even  effervescent  joy. 

"Where  have  you  been,  J.  Ruf us  ?"  asked  Phelps. 
"We  were  looking  for  you  all  over  yesterday.  We 
thought  sure  you'd  be  out  at  the  track  playing  that 
Boston  Gouge  Company's  tips." 

"Your  dear  chum  was  in  the  country,  resting  up," 
replied  Wallingford,  with  matter-of-fact  cheerful- 
ness. "By  George,  I  never  had  wine  put  me  down 
and  out  so  in  my  life" — whereat  the  cadaverous 
Short-Card  Larry  could  not  repress  a  wink  for  the 
benefit  of  Yap  Pickins.  "What  was  the  good-thing 
they  wired  yesterday?" 

"Whipsaw!"  scorned  Phelps.  "Say,  do  you  see 
that  horse  out  there  ?" — and  he  pointed  to  a  selling- 
plater,  up  at  the  head  of  the  stretch,  which  was  being 
warmed  up  by  a  stable-boy.  "Well,  that's  Whipsaw, 
just  coming  in  from  yesterday's  last  race." 

Wallingford  chuckled. 

"They're  bound,  you  know,  to  land  on  a  dead  one 
once  in  a  while,"  he  grunted;  "but  I'm  strong  for 
their  game,  just  the  same.  You  remember  what  that 
Razzoo  thing  that  they  tipped  off  did  for  me  the 
other  day." 

"Yes?"  admitted  Phelps  with  a  rising  inflection 


196  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

and  a  meaning  grin.  "Nice  money  you  won  on  him. 
It  spends  well." 

"Enjoy  yourselves,"  invited  Wallingford  cor- 
dially. "I've  no  kick  coming.  I'm  through  with  stud 
poker  till  they  quit  playing  it  with  a  hole-card." 

"I  don't  blame  you,"  agreed  Short-Card  Larry 
solemnly.  "Anybody  that  would  bet  a  four-flush 
against  two  aces  in  sight,  the  way  you  did  when  Billy 
won  that  three-thousand-dollar  pot  from  you,  ought 
never  to  play  anything  stronger  than  ping-pong  for 
the  cigarettes." 

Wallingford  nodded,  with  the  best  brand  of  suav- 
ity he  could  muster  under  the  irritating  circum- 
stances. 

"I  suppose  I  did  play  like  a  man  expecting  his  wife 
to  telephone,"  he  admitted.  "Excuse  me  a  minute; 
I  want  to  get  a  bet  down  on  this  race." 

"Whom  do  you  like?"  asked  Pickins. 

"Rosey  S." 

The  four  began  to  laugh. 

"That's  the  hot  Boston  tip,"  gasped  Phelps.  "Say, 
Wallingford,  don't  give  your  money  to  the  Mets. 
Let  us  make  a  book  for  you  on  that  skate." 

"You're  on,"  agreed  J.  Rufus,  delighted  that  the 
proposition  should  come  from  them,  for  he  had  been 


TAKING    HIS    MONEY  197 

edging  in  that  direction  himself.  "I'll  squander  a 
hundred  on  the  goat  at  the  first  odds  we  see." 

They  went  into  the  betting-shed.  Rosey  S.  was 
quoted  at  six  to  one.  Even  as  they  looked  the  price 
was  rubbed,  and  ten  to  one  was  chalked  in  its  place. 
The  laughter  of  the  quartet  was  long  and  loud  as 
they  pulled  money  from  their  pockets. 

"The  first  odds  goes,  Big  Pink,"  Banting  re- 
minded him. 

Wallingford  produced  his  hundred  dollars,  and 
quietly  noted  that  the  eyes  of  the  quartet  glistened 
as  they  saw  the  size  of  the  roll  from  which  he  ex- 
tracted it.  They  had  not  been  prepared  to  find  that 
he  still  had  plenty  of  money.  Jake  Block  passed  near 
them,  and  Wallingford  hailed  him. 

"Hold  stakes  for  us,  Jake,  on  a  little  private  bet  ?" 
he  asked. 

"Sure  thing,"  acquiesced  Jake.   "What  is  it?" 

"These  fellows  are  trying  to  win  out  dinner- 
money  on  me.  They're  giving  me  six  hundred  to 
one  against  Rosey  S." 

Block  glanced  up  at  the  board  and  noted  the  in- 
creased odds,  but  it  was  no  part  of  his  policy  to  in- 
terfere in  anything. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  taking  the  seven  hundred  dpi- 


198  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

lars  and  stuffing  the  money  in  his  pocket.  "You 
don't  want  to  lay  a  little  more,  do  you,  at  that  odds  ?" 

"No,"  declined  Wallingford.  "I'm  unlucky  when 
I  press  a  bet." 

Rosey  S.  put  up  a  very  good  race  for  place,  but 
dropped  back  in  the  finish  to  a  chorus  of  comforting 
observations  from  the  quartet,  who,  to  make  matters 
more  aggravating,  had  played  the  winner  for  place 
at  a  good  price. 

Jake  Block  came  to  them  right  after  the  race  and 
handed  over  the  money.  He  was  evidently  in  a  great 
hurry.  Wallingford  started  to  talk  to  him,  but  Block 
moved  off  rapidly,  and  it  dawned  upon  J.  Rufus  that 
the  horseman  wanted  to  "shake"  him  so  as  not  to 
have  to  invite  him  to  dinner  with  himself  and  Beauty 
Phillips. 

Sunday  morning  he  went  around  to  that  discreet 
young  lady's  flat  for  breakfast,  by  appointment. 
"Mrs.  Phillips"  met  him  with  unusual  warmth. 

"I've  been  missing  you,"  she  stated  with  belated 
remembrance  of  certain  generous  gifts.  "Say,"  she 
added  with  sudden  indignation,  "you  may  have  my 
share  of  Block  for  two  peanuts.  What  do  you  sup- 
pose he  did?  Offered  me  five  dollars  to  boost  him 
with  Beauty.  Five  dollars!" 


TAKING    HIS    MONEY  199 

"The  cheap  skate!"  exclaimed  Wallingford  sym- 
pathetically. 

The  Beauty  came  in  and  greeted  him  with  a  flush 
of  pleasure. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  got  it,  all  right.  The  horse 
runs  in  the  fourth  race  Friday,  and  its  name  is 
.Whipsaw." 

"Whipsaw!"  exclaimed  Wallingford.  "He's 
stringing  you." 

"No,  he  isn't,"  she  declared  positively.  "It  was 
one  o'clock  last  night  before  I  got  him  thawed  out 
enough  to  give  up,  and  I  had  to  let  him  hold  my 
hand,  at  that,"  and  she  rubbed  that  hand  vigorously 
as  if  it  still  had  some  stain  upon  it.  "He  told  me  all 
about  the  horse.  He  says  it's  the  one  good  thing 
he's  going  to  uncover  for  this  meeting.  He  tried 
Whipsaw  out  on  his  own  breeding-farm  down  in 
Kentucky,  clocking  him  twice  a  week,  and  he  says 
the  nag  can  beat  anything  on  this  track.  Block's 
been  breaking  him  to  run  real  races,  entering  against 
a  lot  of  selling-platers,  with  instructions  to  an  iron- 
armed  jockey  to  hold  in  so  as  to  get  a  long  price. 
Friday  he  intends  to  send  the  horse  in  to  win  and 
expects  to  get  big  odds.  I'm  glad  it's  over  with.  We 
promised  to  go  out  to  Claremont  this  afternoon  with 


200  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Block,  but  that  settles  him.  To-morrow  I'm  going 
out  with  you." 

J.  Rufus  shook  his  head. 

"No,  you  mustn't,"  he  insisted.  "You  must  string 
this  boy  along  till  after  the  race  Friday.  He  might 
change  his  mind  or  scratch  the  horse  or  something, 
but  if  he  knows  you  have  a  heavy  bet  down,  and  he's 
still  with  you,  he'll  go  through  with  the  program." 

"I  can't  do  it,"  she  protested. 

He  turned  to  her  slowly,  took  both  her  hands,  and 
gazed  into  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  you  can,  Beauty,"  he  said.  "We've  been 
good  pals  up  to  now,  and  this  is  the  last  thing  I'll 
ever  ask  of  you." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  heightening 
color,  then  she  dropped  her  eyes. 

"Honest,  Pinky,"  she  confessed,  "sometimes  I  do 
wish  you  had  a  lot  of  money." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  WHICH  WALLINGFORD  AND  BLACKIE  DAW  ENJOY 
THEMSELVES 

ON  Monday,  nearing  noon,  Wallingford 
dropped  into  a  flashy  cafe  just  off  Broadway, 
where  he  knew  he  would  be  bound  to  find  some  one 
of  his  quartet.  He  found  Short-Card  Larry  there 
alone,  his  long,  thin  fingers  clasped  around  a  glass 
of  buttermilk. 

"Hello,  Wallingford,"  he  said,  grinning.  "Going 
out  to  the  track  to-day  ?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  miss  a  race  till  the  meeting 
closes,"  asserted  Wallingford.  "I've  a  good  one  to- 
day that  I'm  going  to  send  in  a  couple  of  hundred 
on." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Larry. 

"Governor." 

"Governor!"  snorted  Larry.    "Who's  in  the  race 
with  him?"  He  drew  a  paper  to  him  and  turned  to 
the  entries.   "Why,"  he  protested,  "there  isn't  a  plug 
in  that  race  that  can't  come  back  to  hunt  him." 
201 


202  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

'That's  all  right,"  said  Wallingford.  "I'm  for  the 
National  dockers'  Association,  and  I'm  going  to 
play  their  picks  straight  through." 

"Here's  a  match,"  offered  Larry  scornfully.  "Set 
fire  to  your  money  and  save  yourself  the  trouble  of 
the  trip." 

"Maybe  you'd  like  to  save  it  from  the  flames. 
What  odds  will  you  give  me?" 

This  being  an  entirely  different  proposition,  Larry 
began  to  think  much  better  of  the  horse. 

"Five  to  one,"  he  finally  decided,  after  studying 
over  the  entries  again.  "Don't  know  whether  that's 
the  track  odds  or  not.  But  you  can  take  it  or  leave 
it." 

"I'll  take  it,"  agreed  Wallingford,  and  tossed  his 
money  on  the  bar. 

Mr.  Teller  drew  a  check-book  from  his  pocket, 
and  Wallingford,  glancing  at  the  top  of  the  stub  as 
Larry  filled  out  the  blank  for  a  thousand,  noted  with 
satisfaction  the  splendid  balance  that  was  there. 
Evidently  the  gang  was  well  in  funds.  They  had, 
no  doubt,  been  quite  busy  of  late. 

"Of  course  you'll  cash  that,"  requested  Walling- 
ford, not  so  much  on  account  of  this  particular  bet 
as  to  establish  a  precedent. 


ENJOYING   THEMSELVES          203 

"Sure,"  agreed  Teller;  "although  I'll  only  have  to 
deposit  it  again." 

"I'm  betting  the  two  hundred  you  don't,  remem- 
ber," said  Wallingford,  and  they  signed  a  memoran- 
dum of  the  bet,  which  they  deposited  with  the  rock- 
jawed  proprietor,  after  that  never-smiling  gentle- 
man had  nonchalantly  opened  his  safe  and  cashed 
Larry's  check. 

On  Tuesday  morning,  Governor  having  lost  and 
Short-Card  Larry  having  imprudently  exulted  to  his 
friends  over  the  two-hundred-dollar  winning,  Mr. 
Teller  came  around  to  Wallingford's  hotel  with  his 
pocket  full  of  money  to  find  there  Badger  Billy  and 
Mr.  Phelps,  both  of  whom  had  come  on  similar  busi- 
ness. 

"I  suppose  you  got  his  coin  on  to-day's  sure 
thing,"  observed  Larry  with  a  scowl,  he  being  one 
to  whom  a  bad  temper  came  naturally. 

"Three  hundred  of  it,"  said  fat  Badger  Billy  tri- 
umphantly. "To-day  he  has  a  piece  of  Brie  fromage 
by  the  name  of  Handicass." 

"Which  ought  to  be  called  Handcase,"  supple- 
mented Phelps,  and  the  two  threw  back  their  heads 
and  roared.  "The  cheese  is  expected  to  skipper  home 
about  the  time  the  crowd  realizes  they're  off."  And 


204  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

they  all  enjoyed  themselves  in  contemplation  of  what 
was  going  to  happen  to  Handicass. 

"Got  any  more?"  demanded  Larry. 

"Not  this  morning,"  returned  Wallingford,  ac- 
cepting his  role  of  derided  "come-on"  with  smiling 
fortitude.  "I  want  to  save  some  for  to-morrow's 
bet." 

"You  see,"  explained  Billy  Banting,  puffing  up  his 
red  cheeks  with  laughter,  "Wallingford's  playing  a 
system  of  progression.  He  hikes  the  bet  every  day, 
expecting  to  play  even  in  the  finish." 

"I  see,"  said  Larry,  grinning ;  "but  don't  you  fel- 
lows hook  all  this  easy  money.  Count  me  in  for  a 
piece  of  to-morrow's  bet." 

He  had  a  chance.  Handicass  ran  to  consistent 
form  with  all  the  other  "picks" — except  the  one  ac- 
cident, Razzoo — of  the  National  dockers'  Associa- 
tion, and  on  Wednesday,  Wallingford  bet  four  hun- 
dred on  the  "information"  which  that  concern  wired 
to  him  and  to  Mr.  Phelps.  On  that  day,  too,  having 
received  at  breakfast-time  a  report  from  Beauty 
Phillips  that  the  Whipsaw  horse  was  still  "meant," 
he  wrote  careful  instructions  to  Blackie  Daw,  then 
held  his  thumbs  and  crossed  his  fingers  and  touched 
wood  and  looked  at  the  moon  over  the  proper  shoul- 


ENJOYING    THEMSELVES  205 

der,  and  did  various  other  things  to  keep  Fate  from 
sending  home  one  of  those  tips  as  an  accidental  win- 
ner on  either  Wednesday  or  Thursday. 

Nothing  of  that  disastrous  sort  happened,  how- 
ever, and  his  pet  enemies,  the  quartet,  having  won 
from  J.  Rufus  on  Saturday,  Monday,  Tuesday, 
Wednesday  and  Thursday,  had  by  this  time  pooled 
their  interests  and  constituted  themselves  Walling- 
ford's  regular  bookmaking  syndicate.  Their  only 
fear  on  Friday  morning,  after  Phelps  had  received 
his  wire  from  Boston,  was  that  Wallingford  would 
not  care  to  bet  that  day,  since  the  horse  which  had 
been  given  out  was  that  notorious  tail-ender,  Whip- 
saw  !  They  invaded  J.  Rufus'  apartments  as  soon  as 
they  got  the  wire,  and  were  relieved  to  find  that 
Wallingford  was  still  firm  in  his  allegiance  to  the 
National  dockers'  Association. 

They  were  a  little  surprised,  however,  to  find 
Blackie  Daw  at  breakfast  with  Wallingford,  but 
they  greeted  that  old  comrade  with  great  cordiality, 
coupled  with  an  inward  fear  that  he  might  interfere 
with  their  designs  upon  Wallingford. 

"You  haven't  been  making  a  book  against  J. 
Rufus  on  the  day's  races,  have  you?"  inquired 
Phelps. 


206  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Not  yet,"  said  Blackie,  laughing,  "but  I'm  will- 
ing. What's  he  on?" 

"Whipsaw,"  interposed  Wallingford. 

Blackie  laughed  softly. 

"I  don't  know  the  horse,"  he  said,  "but  I  just 
seem  to  remember  that  he's  the  joke  of  the  track." 

"No,"  explained  Larry;  "he's  too  painful  to  be  a 
joke." 

"What  odds  do  you  expect  to  get,  Wallingford?" 
asked  Blackie,  reaching  for  his  wallet. 

"Hold  on  a  minute,"  said  Phelps  hastily.  "You 
don't  want  to  butt  in  on  this,  Daw.  We've  been 
making  book  for  J.  Rufus  all  week,  and  it's  our 
money.  You  hold  stakes." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  snapped  Wallingford,  sud- 
denly displaying  temper;  "there  will  be  enough  to 
go  around.  I'll  cover  every  cent  you  four  have  or 
can  get,"  and  he  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the 
table.  "This  is  my  last  day  in  the  racing  game,  and 
I'm  going  to  plunge  on  Whipsaw.  I've  turned  into 
cash  every  resource  I  had  in  the  world.  I've  even 
soaked  my  diamonds  and  watch  to  get  more.  Now 
come  on  and  cover  my  coin."  From  his  pocket  he 
produced  a  thick  bundle  of  bills  of  large  denomina- 
tion. "What  odds  do  I  get?  The  last  time  Whip- 


ENJOYING    THEMSELVES  207 

saw  was  in  a  race  he  opened  at  twelve  to  one  and  I 
ought  to  get  fifteen  at  least  to-day.  Here's  a  thou- 
sand at  that  odds." 

"Not  on  your  life!"  said  Short-Card  Larry.  "I 
wouldn't  put  up  fifteen  thousand  to  win  one  on  any 
game." 

"What'll  you  give  me,  then?  Come  on  for  this 
easy  money.  Give  me  ten?" 

No,  they  would  not  give  him  ten. 

"Give  me  eight  ?" 

They  hesitated.  He  immediately  slid  the  money 
in  his  pocket. 

"You  fellows  are  kidding.  You  don't  want  to 
make  book  for  me.  I'll  take  this  coin  out  to  the 
track  and  get  it  down  at  the  long  odds." 

His  display  of  contemptuous  anger  decided  them. 

"I'll  take  my  share,"  asserted  Short-Card  Larry, 
he  of  the  quick  temper,  and  among  them  the  four 
made  up  the  money  to  cover  Wallingford's  bet. 

"Here's  the  stakes,  Blackie,"  said  Wallingford, 
passing  over  the  money  toward  him.  "You're  all 
willing  he  should  hold  the  money  ?" 

They  were.  They  knew  Blackie. 

"Moreover,"  observed  Yap  Pickins  meaningly, 
"we'll  keep  close  to  him." 


208  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Here's  another  thousand  that  you  can  cover  at 
five  to  one,"  offered  Wallingford,  counting  out  the 
money. 

Now  they  were  as  eager  as  he. 

"We'll  take  you,"  said  Teller,  "but  I'll  have  to  go 
out  and  get  more  mezuma." 

"All  right.  Bring  all  you  can  scrape  together  and 
I'll  cover  the  balance  of  it  at  two  to  one." 

For  just  one  moment  they  were  suspicious. 

"Look  here,"  said  Billy  Banting,  "do  you  know 
something  about  this  horse?" 

"If  I  did  I  wouldn't  tell.  Don't  you  know  that  I 
can  get  from  fifteen  to  twenty  at  the  track?  Why 
do  you  suppose  I  want  to  make  such  a  sucker  bet  as 
this  ?  It's  because  I'd  rather  have  your  money  than 
anybody  else's;  because  I  want  to  break  you!" 

He  was  fairly  trembling  with  simulated  anger 
now. 

"If  that's  the  case  you'll  be  accommodated,"  said 
Teller  with  an  oath.  "Come  on,  boys;  we'll  bring 
up  a  chunk  of  money  that'll  stop  all  this  four-flush 
conversation." 

Mr.  Phelps,  having  already  "produced  to  his 
limit,"  stayed  with  Wallingford  while  the  others 
went  out.  First  of  all,  they  dropped  in  at  a  quiet 


ENJOYING   THEMSELVES  209 

pool-room  where  they  were  known,  and  made  in- 
quiries about  Whipsaw.  They  were  answered  by  a 
laugh,  and  an  offer  to  "take  them  on  for  all  they 
wanted  at  their  own  odds/'  and,  reassured,  they 
scattered,  to  raise  all  the  money  they  could.  They 
returned  in  the  course  of  an  hour  and  counted  down 
a  sum  larger  than  Wallingford  had  thought  the  four 
of  them  could  control.  He  was  to  find  out  later 
that  they  had  not  only  converted  their  bank  accounts 
and  all  their  other  holdings  into  currency,  but  had 
borrowed  all  their  credit  would  stand  wherever  they 
were  known.  Wallingford,  covering  their  first  five 
thousand  with  one,  calmly  counted  out  an  amount 
equal  to  one-half  of  all  the  rest  they  had  put  down, 
passed  it  over  to  Blackie  to  hold,  then  flaunted  more 
money  in  their  faces. 

"This  is  at  evens  if  you  can  scrape  up  any  more," 
he  offered  sneeringly.  "Go  soak  your  jewelry." 

Before  making  that  suggestion  he  had  noted  the 
absence  of  Larry's  ring  and  of  Billy's  studded  watch- 
charm.  Phelps  was  the  only  one  who  still  wore  any- 
thing convertible,  a  loud  cravat-pin,  an  emerald,  set 
with  diamonds. 

"Give  you  two  hundred  against  your  pin,"  said  he 
to  Phelps,  and  the  latter  promptly  took  the  bet. 


210  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Are  you  all  in?"  asked  Wallingford. 

They  promptly  acknowledged  that  they  were  "all 
in." 

"All  right,  then ;  we'll  have  a  drink  and  go  out  to 
the  track.  You'll  want  to  see  this  race,  because  1 
win!" 

They  were  naturally  contemptuous  of  this  view, 
even  hilariously  contemptuous,  and  they  offered  to 
lend  Wallingford  money  enough,  after  the  race,  "to 
sneak  out  of  town  and  hide." 

While  they  were  taking  the  parting  drink  Blackie 
Daw  slipped  into  Wallingford's  bedroom  for  just 
one  moment  "to  get  a  handkerchief."  There  he 
found,  mopping  his  brow,  a  short,  thick-set  chap 
known  as  Shorty  Hampton,  a  perfectly  reliable  and 
discreet  betting  commissioner. 

"I  was  just  goin'  to  duck,"  growled  Shorty  in  a 
gruff  whisper.  "I've  got  two  or  three  other  parties 
to  see.  I've  been  suffocating  in  this  damned  little 
room  for  the  last  hour,  waitin'." 

"All  right.  Here's  the  money,"  said  Blackie,  and 
handed  him  half  the  stakes  which  had  fust  been  in- 
trusted to  his  care.  "Spread  this  in  as  many  pool- 
rooms as  you  can ;  get  it  all  down  on  Whipsaw." 

"Three  ways?"  asked  Shorty. 


ENJOYING   THEMSELVES  211 

"Straight,  every  cent  of  it,"  insisted  Daw.  "No 
place  or  show-money  for  us  to-day." 

At  the  track  they  saw  Beauty  Phillips  alone  in  the 
grand-stand,  and  joined  her.  Wallingford  introduced 
Blackie,  and  they  chatted  with  her  a  few  moments, 
then  Wallingford  took  him  away.  He  did  not  care 
to  have  Jake  Block  see  them  with  her  until  after  the 
fourth  race.  As  they  moved  off  she  gave  Walling- 
ford a  quick,  meaning  little  nod. 

True  to  Pickins'  threat  the  quartet  kept  very  close 
indeed  to  Daw,  but,  during  the  finish  of  the  rather 
exciting  third  race,  Blackie,  maneuvering  so  that 
Wallingford  was  just  behind  him,  slipped  from  his 
pocket  the  remaining  half  of  the  stake-money. 

"Well,  boys,"  said  Wallingford  blandly,  the 
money  safely  tucked  away  in  his  own  pocket.  "I  stifl 
have  a  little  coin  to  wager  on  Whipsaw.  Do  you 
want  it?" 

"No;  we're  satisfied,"  returned  Larry  dryly. 

"All  right,  then,"  said  Wallingford.  "I'm  going 
down  and  get  it  on  the  books." 

Harry  Phelps  sighed. 

"It's  too  bad  to  see  that  easy  money  going  away 
from  us,  Pink,"  he  confessed. 

Jake  Block  spent  but  little  time  that  afternoon  in 


212  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

the  grand-stand  by  the  side  of  Beauty  Phillips  and 
her  mother.  From  the  beginning  of  the  racing  he 
was  first  in  the  stables  and  then  in  the  paddock  with 
an  anxious  eye/ He  was  lined  up  at  the  fence  oppo- 
site the  barrier  for  the  start  of  the  fateful  fourth, 
and  he  stood  there,  after  the  horses  had  jumped 
away,  to  watch  his  great  little  Whipsaw  around  the 
course.  But  Beauty  Phillips  was  not  without  com- 
pany. Wallingford  sauntered  up  at  the  sound  of  the 
mounting  bell  and  sat  confidently  by  her. 

"Did  you  get  it  all  down,  Jimmy  ?"  she  asked. 

"Every  cent,"  said  he,  wiping  his  brow  nervously. 
"Did  you?" 

"Mother  and  I  are  broke  if  Whipsaw  don't  win," 
she  confessed  with  dry  lips.  "What  do  you  suppose 
makes  Mr.  Block  look  up  here  with  such  a  poison 
face  every  two  or  three  minutes?" 

Wallingford  chuckled  hugely. 

"The  odds,"  he  explained.  "I've  cut  them  to 
slivers.  I  bet  all  mine  and  Blackie's  money  with  the 
Phelps  crowd,  then  turned  around  and  bet  all  ours 
and  theirs  again.  Say,  it's  murder  if  I  lose.  Not 
even  a  fancy  murder,  either." 

Blackie  Daw,  attended  by  three  of  his  guard, 
came  over  to  join  them,  Blackie  evidencing  a  strong 


ENJOYING   THEMSELVES  213 

disposition  to  linger  in  the  rear,  for  he  was  taking  a 
desperate  chance  with  desperate  men.  If  Whipsaw 
lost  he  had  his  course  mapped  out — down  the  near- 
est steps  of  the  grand-stand  and  out  to  the  carriage- 
gate  as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him.  There,  J. 
Rufus'  automobile  was  to  be  waiting,  all  cranked 
up  and  trembling,  ready  to  dart  away  the  moment 
Blackie  should  jump  in.  Just  as  Blackie  and  the 
others  joined  Wallingford  and  Beauty  Phillips, 
Larry  Teller  came  breathlessly  up  from  the  betting- 
shed. 

"There's  something  doing  on  that  Whipsaw 
horse,"  he  declared  excitedly.  "He  opened  at  twenty 
to  one — and  in  fifteen  minutes  of  play — either  some- 
body that  knows  something — or  a  wagonload  of 
fool-money — had  backed  him  down  to  evens.  Think 
of  it!  Evens!" 

There  was  a  sudden  roar  from  the  crowd,  more 
like  a  gigantic  groan  than  any  other  sound.  They 
were  off !  One  horse  was  left  at  the  post,  but  it  was 
not  Whipsaw.  Two  others  trailed  behind.  The  other 
five  were  away,  well  bunched.  At  the  quarter,  three 
horses  drew  into  the  lead,  Whipsaw  just  behind 
them.  At  the  half,  one  of  the  three  was  dropping 
back,  and  Whipsaw  slowly  overtaking  it.  Now  his 


214  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

nose  was  at  her  flanks ;  now  at  the  saddle ;  then  the 
jockeys  were  abreast;  then  the  white  jacket  and  red 
sleeves  of  Whipsaw's  rider  could  be  seen  to  the  fore 
of  the  opposing  jockey,  with  the  two  leaders  just 
ahead.  At  the  three-quarters,  three  horses  were  neck 
and  neck  again,  but  this  time  Whipsaw  was  among 
them.  Down  the  stretch  they  came  pounding,  and 
then,  and  not  until  then,  did  Whipsaw,  a  lithe,  shin- 
ing little  brown  streak,  strike  into  the  best  stride  of 
which  he  was  capable.  A  thousand  hoarse  watchers, 
as  they  came  to  the  seven-eighths,  roared  encourage- 
ment to  the  horses.  Whipsaw's  name  was  much 
among  them,  but  only  in  tones  of  anger.  Men  and 
even  women  ran  down  to  the  rail  and  stood  on  tiptoe 
with  red  faces,  shrieking  for  Fashion  to  come  on, 
begging  and  praying  Fashion  to  win,  for  Fashion 
carried  most  of  the  money;  and  the  shrieking  be- 
came an  agony  as  the  horses  flashed  under  the  wire, 
Whipsaw  a  good,  clean  half  length  in  the  lead ! 

As  the  roaring  stopped  in  one  high,  abrupt  wail, 
Beauty  Phillips,  who  never  knew  emotion  or  excite- 
ment, suddenly  discovered,  to  her  vast  surprise,  that 
she  was  on  her  feet!  that  she  was  clutching  her 
throat  for  its  hoarseness !  that  she  was  dripping  with 
perspiration !  that  she  was  faint  and  weak  and  giddy ! 


Beauty  Phillips  discovered  she  was  on  her  feet 


ENJOYING   THEMSELVES  215 

that  her  blood  was  pounding  and  her  eyeballs  hurt ; 
and  that  she  had  been,  from  the  stretch  down,  jump- 
ing violently  up  and  down  and  shrieking  the  name 
of  Whipsaw !  Whipsaw !  Whipsaw !  Whipsaw ! 

A  frenzied  hand  grabbed  Blackie  Daw  by  the  el- 
bow. 

"Duck,  for  God's  sake,  Blackie!"  implored  the 
shaking  voice  of  Billy  Banting.  "Go  down  to  the 
old  joint  on  Thirty-third  Street  and  wait  for  us. 
We'll  split  up  that  stake  and  all  make  a  get-away." 

"Not  on  your  life!"  returned  Blacked  calmly,  and 
pulled  Wallingf  ord  around  toward  him  by  the  shoul- 
der. "I  shall  have  great  pleasure  in  turning  over  to 
Mr.  Wallingf  ord  the  combined  bets  of  the  Broad- 
way Syndicate  against  that  lovely  little  record- 
breaker,  Whipsaw." 

"It's  a  good  horse,"  said  Wallingford  with  forced 
calmness,  and  then  he  began  to  chuckle,  his  broad 
shoulders  shaking  and  his  breast  heaving;  "and  it 
was  well  named.  I  fawncy  the  Broadway  Syndicate 
book  will  now  go  out  of  business — and  with  no 
chance  to  welch." 

"All  we  wise  people  knew  about  it,"  Blackie  con- 
descendingly explained  to  the  quartet.  "You  see,  I 
am  running  the  National  dockers'  Association." 


216  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Before  the  voiceless  Broadway  Syndicate  was 
through  gasping  over  this  piece  of  news,  Jake  Block 
came  stalking  through  the  grand-stand.  Though 
elated  over  his  victory  and  flushed  with  his  winnings, 
he  nevertheless  had  time  to  cast  a  bitter  scowl  in  the 
direction  of  Beauty  Phillips. 

"The  next  time  I  hand  any  woman  a  tip  you  may 
cut  my  arm  off!"  he  declared.  "I'm  through  with 
you  1" 

"Who's  that?"  asked  Larry  Teller,  glaring  after 
the  man  who  had  mentioned  the  pregnant  word 
"tip." 

"Jake  Block,  the  owner  of  Whipsaw,"  Wall  ing- 
ford  was  pleased  to  inform  him. 

"It's  a  frame-up !"  shouted  Billy  Banting. 

A  strong  left  hand  clutched  desperately  at  Blackie 
Daw's  coat  and  tore  the  top  button  off,  and  an 
equally  strong  right  hand  grabbed  into  Blackie 
Daw's  inside  coat-pocket.  It  was  empty,  Pickins 
found,  just  as  a  stronger  hand  than  his  own  gripped 
him  until  he  winced  with  pain. 

"What  have  you  done  with  the  stakes  ?"  shrieked 
Pickins,  trying  to  throw  off  that  grip,  but  not  turn- 
ing. 

"What's  it  your  business?    But,  if  you  want  to 


ENJOYING   THEMSELVES          217 

know,  all  that  stake-money  was  bet  in  the  shed  and 
in  the  books  about  town — on  Whipsaw  to  win !" 

The  broad-shouldered  man  who  had  edged  up 
quite  near  to  them  during  the  race,  and  who  had  in- 
terfered with  Pickins,  now  stepped  in  front  of  the 
members  of  the  defunct  Broadway  Syndicate.  They 
only  took  one  good  look  at  him,  and  then  fell  back 
quite  clamily.  In  the  broad-shouldered  giant  they 
had  recognized  Harvey  Willis,  the  quite  capable 
Broadway  policeman  and  friend  of  Wallingford,  off 
for  the  day  in  his  street  clothes. 

"Run  along,  little  ones,  and  play  tricks  on  the 
ignorant  country  folks  from  Harlem  and  Flatbush," 
advised  Beauty  Phillips  as  she  took  Wallingford's 
arm  and  turned  away  with  him.  "You've  been  whip- 
sawed  !" 

She  was  exceptionally  gracious  to  J.  Rufus  that 
evening,  but  for  the  first  time  in  many  days  he  was 
extremely  thoughtful.  A  vague  unrest  possessed  him 
and  it  grew  as  the  Beauty  became  more  gracious. 
He  guessed  that  he  could  marry  her  if  he  wished, 
but  somehow  the  idea  did  not  please  him  as  it  might 
have  done  a  few  weeks  earlier.  He  liked  the  Beauty 
perhaps  even  better  than  before,  but  somehow  she 
was  not  quite  the  type  of  woman  for  him,  and  he 


218  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

had  not  realized  it  until  she  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  the  problem. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said  as  he  bid  her  good  night, 
"I  think  I'll  take  a  little  run  about  the  country  for  a 
while.  I'm  a  whole  lot  tired  of  this  man's  town." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

J.  RUFUS  SEEKS  FOR  PROFITABLE  INVESTMENT  IN 
THE    COUNTRY 

A  RATTLING  old  carryall,  drawn  by  one 
knobby  yellow  horse  and  driven  by  a  de- 
crepit patriarch  of  sixty,  stopped  with  a  groan  and 
a  creak  and  a  final  rattle  at  the  door  of  the 
weather-beaten  Atlas  Hotel,  and  a  grocery  "drum- 
mer," a  beardless  youth  with  pink  cheeks,  jumped 
hastily  out  and  rushed  into  the  clean  but  bare  lit- 
tle office,  followed  as  hastily  by  a  grizzled  vet- 
eran of  the  road  who  sold  dry-goods  and  notions 
and  wore  gaudy  young  clothes.  Wallingford 
emerged  much  more  slowly,  as  became  his  ponder- 
ous size.  He  was  dressed  in  a  green  summer  suit  of 
ineffable  fabric,  wore  green  low  shoes,  green  silk 
hose,  a  green  felt  hat,  and  a  green  bow  tie,  below 
which,  in  the  bosom  of  his  green  silk  negligee  shirt, 
glowed  a  huge  diamond.  Richness  and  bigness  were 
the  very  essence  of  him,  and  the  aged  driver,  recog- 
219 


220  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

nizing  true  worth  when  he  saw  it,  gave  a  jerk  at  his 
dust -crusted  old  cap  as  he  addressed  him. 

"  'Tain't  no  use  to  hurry  now,"  he  quavered. 
"Them  other  two'll  have  the  good  rooms." 

J.  Rufus,  from  natural  impulse,  followed  in  im- 
mediately. There  was  no  one  behind  the  little  coun- 
ter, but  the  young  grocery  drummer,  having  hastily 
inspected  the  sparse  entries  of  the  preceding  days, 
had  registered  himself  for  room  two. 

"There  ain't  a  single  transient  in  the  house, 
Billy,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  dry-goods  and  notion 
salesman,  "so  I'll  just  put  you  down  for  number 
three." 

A  buxom  young  woman  came  out  of  the  adjoining 
dining-room,  wiping  her  red  hands  and  arms  upon  a 
water-spattered  gingham  apron. 

"Three  of  us,  Molly,"  said  the  older  salesman. 
"Hustle  up  the  dinner,"  and  out  of  pure  friendli- 
ness he  started  to  chuck  her  under  the  chin,  whereat 
she  wheeled  and  slapped  him  a  resounding  whack 
and  ran  away  laughing.  This  vigorous  retort,  being 
entirely  expected,  was  passed  without  comment,  and 
the  two  commercial  travelers  took  off  their  coats  to 
"wash  up"  at  the  tin  basins  in  the  corner.  The  aged 
driver,  intercepting  them  to  collect,  came  in  to  Wall- 


J.    RUFUS    SEEKS    INVESTMENT    221 

ingford,  who,  noting  the  custom,  had  already  sub- 
scribed his  name  with  a  flourish  upon  the  register. 

"Two  shillin',"  quavered  the  ancient  one  at  his 
elbow. 

Wallingford  gave  him  twice  the  amount  he  asked 
for,  and  the  old  man  was  galvanized  into  instant 
fluttering  activity.  He  darted  out  of  the  door  with 
surprising  agility,  and  returned  with  two  pieces  of 
Wallingford's  bright  and  shining  luggage,  which  he 
surveyed  reverently  as  he  placed  them  in  front  of 
the  counter.  Two  more  pieces,  equally  rich,  he 
brought,  and  on  the  third  trip  the  proprietor's  son, 
a  brawny  boy  of  fifteen,  clad  in  hickory  shirt,  blue 
overalls  and  plow  shoes,  and  with  his  sleeves  rolled 
up  to  his  shoulders,  helped  him  in  with  Walling- 
ford's big  sole-leather  dresser  trunk. 

"Gee !"  said  the  boy  to  Wallingford,  beaming  upon 
this  array  of  expensive  baggage.  "What  do  you 
sell?" 

"White  elephants,  son,"  replied  Wallingford,  so 
gravely  that  the  boy  took  two  minutes  to  decide  that 
the  rich  stranger  was  "fresh." 

It  was  not  until  dinner  was  called  that  any  one  dis- 
played the  least  interest  in  the  register,  and  then  the 
proprietor,  a  tall,  cowboy-like  man,  with  drooping 


222  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

mustaches  and  a  weather-browned  face,  came  in 
with  his  trousers  tucked  into  his  top  boots. 

"Hello,  Joe!  Hello,  Billy!"  he  said,  nodding  to 
the  two  traveling  men.  "How's  business?" 

"Rotten !"  returned  the  grocery  drummer. 

"Fine!"  asserted  the  dry-goods  salesman.  "Our 
house  hasn't  done  so  much  business  in  five  years." 
Sotto  voce,  he  turned  to  the  young  drummer. 
"Never  give  it  away  that  business  is  on  the  bum,"  he 
said  out  of  his  years  of  experience. 

The  tall  proprietor  examined  the  impressively 
groomed  Wallingford  and  his  impressive  luggage 
with  some  curiosity,  and  went  behind  the  little  coun- 
ter to  inspect  the  register. 

"I'd  like  two  rooms  and  a  bath,"  said  Walling- 
ford, as  the  other  looked  up  thoughtfully. 

"Two!  Two?"  repeated  Jim  Ranger,  looking 
about  the  room.  "Some  ladies  with  you?  Mother 
or  sister,  maybe?" 

"No,"  answered  Wallingford,  smiling.  "A  bed- 
room and  sitting-room  and  a  bath  for  myself." 

"Sitting-room?"  repeated  the  proprietor.  "You 
know,  you  can  sit  in  this  office  till  the  'leven-ten's 
in  every  night,  and  then  the  parlor's — "  He 
hesitated,  and,  seeing  the  unresponsive  look  upon  his 


J.    RUFUS    SEEKS    INVESTMENT    223 

guest's  face,  he  added  hastily :  "Oh,  well,  I  reckon 
I  can  fix  it.  We  can  move  a  bed  out  of  number  five, 
and  I'll  have  the  bath-tub  and  the  water  sent  up  as 
soon  as  you  need  it.  This  is  wash-day,  you  know, 
and  they've  got  the  rinse  water  in  it.  I  reckon  you 
won't  want  it  before  to-night,  though." 

"No,"  said  J.  Rufus  quietly,  and  sighed. 

Immediately  after  lunch,  J.  Rufus,  inquiring 
again  for  the  proprietor,  was  told  by  Molly  that  he 
was  in  the  barn,  indicating  its  direction  with  a  vague 
wave  of  her  thumb.  Wallingford  went  out  to  the 
enormous  red  barn,  its  timbers  as  firm  as  those  of 
the  hotel  were  flimsy,  its  lines  as  rigidly  perpendicu- 
lar as  those  of  the  hotel  were  out  of  plumb,  its  doors 
and  windows  as  square-angled  as  those  of  the  hotel 
were  askew.  Across  its  wide  front  doors,  opening 
upon  the  same  wide,  cracked  old  stone  sidewalk  as 
the  hotel,  was  a  big  sign  kept  fresh  and  bright : 
"J.  H.  Ranger,  Livery  and  Sales  Stable."  Here 
Wallingford  found  the  proprietor  and  the  brawny 
boy  in  the  middle  of  the  wide  barn  floor,  in  earnest 
consultation  over  the  bruised  hock  of  a  fine,  big, 
draft  horse. 

"I'd  like  to  get  a  good  team  and  a  driver  for  this 
afternoon,"  observed  Wallingford. 


224  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"You've  come  to  the  right  place,"  declared  Jim 
Ranger  heartily,  and  when  he  straightened  up  he 
no  longer  looked  awkward  and  out  of  place,  as  he 
had  in  the  hotel  office,  but  seemed  a  graceful  part  of 
the  surrounding  picture.  "Bob,  get  out  that  little 
sorrel  team  and  hitch  it  up  to  the  new  buggy  for  the 
gentleman,"  and  as  Bob  sprang  away  with  alacrity 
he  turned  to  Wallingford.  "They're  not  much  to 
look  at,  that  sorrel  team,"  he  explained,  "but  they 
can  go  like  a  couple  of  rats,  all  day,  at  a  good,  steady 
clip,  up  hill  and  down." 

"Fine,"  said  Wallingford,  who  was  somewhat  of 
a  connoisseur  in  horses,  and  he  surveyed  the  under- 
sized, lithe-limbed,  rough-coated  sorrels  with  ap- 
proval as  they  were  brought  stamping  out  of  their 
stalls,  though,  as  he  climbed  into  his  place,  he  re- 
gretted that  they  were  not  more  in  keeping  with  the 
handsome  buggy. 

"Which  way  ?"  asked  Bob,  as  he  gathered  up  the 
reins. 

"The  country  just  outside  of  town,  in  all  direc- 
tions," directed  Wallingford  briefly. 

"All  right,"  said  Bob  with  a  click  to  the  little 
horses,  and  clattering  out  of  the  door  they  turned 
to  the  right,  away  from  the  broad,  shady  street  of 


J.    RUFUS    SEEKS    INVESTMENT    225 

old  maples,  and  were  almost  at  once  in  the  country. 
For  a  mile  or  two  there  were  gently  undulating 
farms  of  rich,  black  loam,  and  these  Wallingford 
inspected  in  careful  turn. 

"Seems  to  be  good  land  about  here,"  he  observed. 

"Best  in  the  world,"  said  the  youngster.  "Was 
you  thinkin'  of  buyin'  a  farm?" 

Wallingford  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  scarcely  think  so,"  he  replied. 

'  'Twouldn't  do  you  any  good  if  you  was,"  re- 
torted Bob.  "There  ain't  a  farm  hereabouts  for 
sale." 

To  prove  it,  he  pointed  out  the  extent  of  each 
farm,  gave  the  name  of  its  owner  and  told  how 
much  he  was  worth,  to  all  of  which  Wallingford 
listened  most  intently. 

They  had  been  driving  to  the  east,  but,  coming 
to  a  fork  in  the  road  leading  to  the  north,  Bob  took 
that  turning  without  instructions,  still  chattering  his 
local  Bradstreet.  Along  this  road  was  again  rich 
and  smiling  farm  land,  but  Wallingford,  seeming 
throughout  the  drive  to  be  eagerly  searching  for 
something,  evinced  a  new  interest  when  they  came 
to  a  grove  of  slender,  straight-trunked  trees. 

"Old  man  Mescott  gets  a  hundred  gallons   of 


226  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

maple  syrup  out  of  that  grove  every  spring/'  said 
Bob  in  answer  to  a  query.  "He  gets  two  dollars  a 
gallon,  then  he  stays  drunk  till  plumb  the  middle  of 
summer.  Was  you  thinkin'  of  buy  in'  a  maple 
grove  ?" 

Wallingford  looked  back  in  thoughtful  specula- 
tion, but  ended  by  shaking  his  head,  more  to  him- 
self than  to  Bob. 

They  passed  through  a  woods. 

"Good  timber  land,  that,"  suggested  Wallingford. 

"Good  timber  land!  I  should  say  it  was,"  said 
Bob.  "There's  nigh  a  hundred  big  walnut  trees  back 
in  there  a  ways,  to  say  nothing  of  all  the  fine  oak 
an'  hick'ry,  but  old  man  Cass  won't  touch  an  ax 
to  nothing  but  underbrush.  He  says  he's  goin'  to 
will  'em  to  his  grandchildren,  and  by  the  time  they 
grow  up  it'll  be  worth  their  weight  in  money.  Was 
you  thinkin'  of  buyin'  some  timber  land  ?" 

Wallingford  again  hesitated  over  that  question, 
but  finally  stated  that  he  was  not. 

"Here's  the  north  road  back  into  town,"  said  Bob, 
as  they  came  to  a  cross-road,  and  as  they  gained  the 
top  of  the  elevation  they  could  look  down  and  see, 
a  mile  or  so  away,  the  little  town,  its  gray  roofs  and 
red  chimneys  peeping  from  out  its  sheltering  of 


J.    RUFUS    SEEKS    INVESTMENT    227 

green  leaves.  Just  beyond  the  intersection  the  side 
of  the  hill  had  been  cut  away,  and  clean,  loose  gravel 
lay  there  in  a  broad  mass.  Wallingford  had  Bob 
halt  while  he  inspected  this. 

"Good  gravel  bank,"  he  commented. 

"I  reckon  it  is,"  agreed  Bob.  "They  come  clear 
over  from  Highville  and  from  Appletown  and  even 
from  Jenkins  Corners  to  get  that  gravel,  and  Tom 
Kerrick  dresses  his  whole  family  off  of  that  bank. 
He  wouldn't  sell  it  for  any  money.  Was  you  think- 
in'  of  buying  a  gravel  bank,  mister?" 

Instead  of  replying  Wallingford  indicated  another 
broken  hillside  farther  on,  where  shale  rock  had 
slipped  loosely  down,  like  a  disintegrated  slate  roof, 
to  a  seeping  hollow. 

"Is  that  stone  good  for  anything  ?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing  in  the  world,"  replied  Bob.  "It  rots 
right  up.  If  you  was  thinkin'  of  buyin'  a  stone 
quarry  now,  there's  a  fine  one  up  the  north  road 
yonder." 

Wallingford  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  buying  a  stone  quarry,"  said 
he. 

Bob  Ranger  looked  shrewdly  and  yet  half- impa- 
tiently at  the  big  young  man  by  his  side. 


228  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"You're  thinkin'  o'  buyin'  somethin';  I  know 
that,"  he  opined. 

Wallingford  chuckled  and  dropped  his  big,  plump 
hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

"Elephant  hay  only,"  he  kindly  explained;  "just 
elephant  hay  for  white  elephants,"  whereat  the  in- 
quisitive Bob,  mumbling  something  to  himself  about 
"freshness,"  relapsed  into  hurt  silence. 

In  this  silence  they  passed  far  to  the  northwest 
of  the  town,  and  a  much-gullied  highway  led  them 
down  toward  the  broader  west  road.  Here  again, 
as  they  headed  straight  in  to  Blakeville  with  their 
backs  to  the  descending  sun,  were  gently  undulating 
farm  lands,  but  about  half  a  mile  out  of  town  they 
came  to  a  wide  expanse  of  black  swamp,  where  cat- 
tails and  calamus  held  sole  possession.  Before  this 
swamp  Wallingford  paused  in  long  and  thoughtful 
contemplation. 

"Who  owns  this?"  he  asked. 

"Jonas  Bubble,"  answered  Bob,  recovering  cheer- 
fully from  his  late  rebuff.  "Gosh !  He's  the  richest 
man  in  these  parts.  Owns  three  hundred  acres  of 
this  fine  farmin'  land  we  just  passed,  owns  the  mill 
down  yander  by  the  railroad  station,  has  a  hide  and 
seed  and  implement  store  up-town,  and  lives  in  the 


J.    RUFUS    SEEKS    INVESTMENT    229 

finest  house  anywhere  around  Blakeville;  regular 
city  house.  That's  it,  on  ahead.  Was  you  thinkin' 
o'  buyin'  some  swamp  land  ?" 

To  this  Wallingford  made  no  reply.  He  was  gaz- 
ing backward  over  that  useless  little  valley,  its  black 
waters  now  turned  velvet  crimson  as  they  caught  the 
slant  of  the  reddening  sun. 

"Here's  Jonas  Bubble's  house,"  said  Bob  pres- 
ently. 

It  was  the  first  house  outside  of  Blakeville — a 
big,  square,  pretentious-looking  place,  with  a  two- 
story  porch  in  front  and  a  quantity  of  scroll-sawed 
ornaments  on  eaves  and  gables  and  ridges,  on  win- 
dows and  doors  and  cornices,  and  with  bright  brass 
lightning-rods  projecting  upward  from  every  promi- 
nence. At  the  gate  stood,  bare-headed,  a  dark-haired 
and  strikingly  pretty  girl,  with  a  rarely  olive-tinted 
complexion,  through  which,  upon  her  oval  cheeks, 
glowed  a  clear,  roseate  under-tint.  She  was  fairly 
slender,  but  well  rounded,  too,  and  very  graceful. 

"Hello,  Fannie!"  called  Bob,  with  a  jerk  at  his 
flat-brimmed  straw  hat. 

"Hello,  Bob!"  she  replied  with  equal  heartiness, 
her  bright  eyes,  however,  fixed  in  inquiring  curiosity 
upon  the  stranger. 


230  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"That's  Jonas  Bubble's  girl,"  explained  Bob,  as 
they  drove  on.  "She's  a  good  looker,  but  she  won't 
spoon." 

Wallingford,  grinning  over  the  fatal  defect  in 
Fannie  Bubble,  looked  back  at  the  girl. 

"She  would  make  a  Casino  chorus  look  like  a  row 
of  Hallowe'en  confectionery  junk,"  he  admitted. 

"Fannie,  come  right  in  here  and  get  supper!" 
shrilled  a  harsh  voice,  and  in  the  doorway  of  the 
Bubble  homestead  they  saw  an  overly-plump  figure 
in  a  green  silk  dress. 

"Gosh !"  said  Bob,  and  hit  one  of  the  little  sorrel 
horses  a  vindictive  clip.  "That's  Fannie's  step- 
mother. Jonas  Bubble  married  his  hired  girl  two 
years  ago,  and  now  they  don't  hire  any.  She  makes 
Fannie  do  the  work." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WALLINGFORD  SPECULATES  IN  THE  CHEAPEST  REAL 
ESTATE  PROCURABLE 

THAT  evening,  after  supper,  Wallingford  sat 
on  one  of  the  broad,  cane-seated  chairs  in 
front  of  the  Atlas  Hotel,  smoking  a  big,  black  cigar 
from  his  own  private  store,  and  watched  the  regular 
evening  parade  go  by.  They  came,  two  by  two,  the 
girls  of  the  village,  up  one  side  of  Maple  Street, 
passed  the  Atlas  Hotel,  crossed  over  at  the  corner 
of  the  livery  stable,  went  down  past  the  Big  Store 
and  as  far  as  the  Campbellite  church,  where  they 
crossed  again  and  began  a  new  round ;  and  each  time 
they  passed  the  Atlas  Hotel  they  giggled,  or  they 
talked  loudly,  or  pushed  one  another,  or  did  some- 
thing to  enlarge  themselves  in  the  transient  eye. 
The  grocery  drummer  and  the  dry-goods  salesman 
sat  together,  a  little  aloof  from  J.  Rufus,  and  pres- 
ently began  saying  flippant  things  to  the  girls  as 
they  passed.  A  wake  of  giggles,  after  each  such  oc- 
231 


232  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

casion,  frothed  across  the  street  at  the  livery-stable 
corner,  and  down  toward  the  Campbellite  church. 

Molly  presently  slipped  out  of  the  garden  gate 
and  went  down  Maple  Street  by  herself.  Within 
twenty  minutes  she,  too,  had  joined  the  parade,  and 
with  her  was  Fannie  Bubble.  As  these  passed  the 
Atlas  Hotel  both  the  drummers  got  up. 

"Hello,  Molly,"  said  the  grocery  drummer.  "I've 
been  waiting  for  you  since  Hector  was  a  pup,"  and 
he  caught  her  arm,  while  the  dry-goods  salesman  ad- 
vanced a  little  uncertainly. 

"You  'tend  to  your  own  business,  Joe  Cling," 
ordered  Molly,  jerking  her  arm  away,  but  neverthe- 
less giving  an  inquiring  glance  toward  her  compan- 
ion. That  rigid  young  lady,  however,  was  looking 
straight  ahead.  She  was  standing  just  in  front  of 
Wallingford. 

"Come  on,"  coaxed  the  grocery  drummer;  "I 
don't  bite.  Grab  hold  there  on  the  other  side,  Billy." 

Miss  Bubble,  however,  was  still  looking  so  un- 
compromisingly straight  ahead  that  Billy  hesitated, 
and  the  willing  enough  Molly,  seeing  that  the  con- 
ference had  "struck  a  snag,"  took  matters  into  her 
own  vigorous  hands  again. 

"You're  too  fresh,"  she  admonished  the  grocery 


SPECULATION   IN   REAL   ESTATE     233 

drummer.  "Let  go  my  arm,  I  tell  you.  Come  on, 
Fannie,"  and  she  flounced  away  with  her  compan- 
ion, turning  into  the  gate  of  the  hotel  garden.  Miss 
Fannie  cast  back  a  curious  glance,  not  at  the  grocery 
drummer  nor  the  veteran  dry-goods  salesman,  but 
at  the  quiet  J.  Rufus. 

The  discomfited  transients  gave  short  laughs  of 
chagrin  and  went  back  to  their  seats,  but  the  grocery 
drummer  was  too  young  to  be  daunted  for  long,  and 
by  the  time  another  section  or  two  of  the  giggling 
parade  had  passed  them  he  was  ready  for  a  second 
attempt.  One  couple,  a  tall,  thin  girl  and  a  short, 
chubby  one,  who  had  now  made  the  circuit  three 
times,  came  sweeping  past  again,  exchanging  with 
each  other  hilarious  persiflage  which  was  calculated 
to  attract  and  tempt. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  the  grocery  drummer  to  his 
companion. 

He  dashed  straight  across  the  street,  and  under 
the  shadow  of  the  big  elm  intercepted  the  long  and 
short  couple.  There  was  a  parley  in  which  the  girls 
two  or  three  times  started  to  walk  away,  a  further 
parley  in  which  they  consented  to  stand  still,  a  loud 
male  guffaw  mingled  with  a  succession  of  shrill  gig- 
gles, then  suddenly  the  grocery  salesman  called : 


234  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

"Come  on,  Billy!" 

The  dry-goods  man  half  rose  from  his  chair  and 
hesitated. 

"Come  on,  Billy!"  again  invited  the  grocery 
drummer.  "We're  going  down  to  wade  in  the 
creek." 

A  particularly  high-pitched  set  of  giggles  followed 
this  tremendous  joke,  and  Billy,  his  timid  scruples 
finally  overcome,  went  across  the  street,  a  ridiculous 
figure  with  his  ancient  body  and  his  youthful  clothes. 
Nevertheless,  Wallingford  felt  just  a  trifle  lonesome 
as  he  watched  his  traveling  companions  of  the  after- 
noon go  sauntering  down  the  street  in  company 
which,  if  silly,  was  at  least  human.  While  he  re- 
gretted Broadway,  Bob  Ranger,  dressed  no  whit 
different  from  his  attire  of  the  afternoon,  except 
that  his  sleeves  were  rolled  down,  came  out  of  the 
hotel  and  stood  for  an  undecided  moment  in  front  of 
the  door. 

"Hello,  Bob!"  hailed  Wallingford  cordially,  glad 
to  see  any  face  he  knew.  "Do  you  smoke?" 

"Reckon  I  do,"  said  Bob.  "I  was  thinkin'  just 
this  minute  of  walkin'  down  to  Bud  Hegler's  for 
some  stogies." 

"Sit  down  and  have  a  cigar,"  offered  Walling- 


SPECULATION   IN   REAL  ESTATE    235 

ford,  producing  a  companion  to  the  one  he  was  then 
enjoying. 

Bob  took  that  cigar  and  smelled  it;  he  measured 
its  length,  its  weight,  and  felt  its  firmness. 

"It  ain't  got  any  band  on  it,  but  I  reckon  that's 
a  straight  ten-center,"  he  opined. 

"I'll  buy  all  you  can  get  me  of  that  brand  for 
a  quarter  apiece,"  offered  Wallingford. 

"So?"  said  Bob,  looking  at  it  doubtfully.  "I 
reckon  I'd  better  save  this  for  Sunday." 

"No,  smoke  it  now.  I'll  give  you  another  one  for 
Sunday,"  promised  Wallingford,  and  he  lit  a  match, 
whereupon  Bob,  biting  the  end  off  the  cigar  with 
his  strong,  white  teeth,  moistened  it  all  over  with 
his  tongue  to  keep  the  curl  of  the  wrapper  down. 

With  vast  gratification  he  sat  down  to  enjoy  that 
awe-inspiring  cigar,  and,  by  way  of  being  enter- 
taining, uttered  comment  upon  the  passing  parade — 
frank,  ingeniously  told  bits  of  personal  history 
which  would  have  been  startling  to  one  who  had 
imbibed  the  conventional  idea  that  all  country  folk 
are  without  guile.  Wallingford  was  not  so  much 
shocked  by  these  revelations,  however,  as  he  might 
have  been,  for  he  had  himself  been  raised  in  a 
country  town,  though  one  not  so  small  as  Blakeville. 


236  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

It  was  while  Bob  was  in  the  midst  of  this  more 
or  less  profane  history  that  Molly  and  Fannie  Bubble 
came  out  of  the  gate. 

"Come  here,  Molly,"  invited  Bob;  "I  want  to 
introduce  you  to  a  friend  of  mine.  He's  going  to 
stop  here  quite  a  long  time.  Mr.  Wallingford — 
Molly ;  Miss  Bubble — Mr.  Wallingford.  Come  on ; 
let's  all  take  a  walk,"  and  confidently  taking  Molly's 
arm  he  started  up  the  crossing,  leaving  Miss  Bubble 
to  Wallingford. 

"It's  a  beautiful  evening,  isn't  it?"  said  Fannie,  as 
Wallingford  caught  step  with  her. 

Wallingford  had  to  hark  back.  Time  had  been 
when  the  line  of  conversation  which  went  with  Miss 
Bubble's  opening  remark  had  been  as  familiar  to  him 
as  his  own  safety  razor,  but  of  late  he  had  been 
entertaining  such  characters  as  Beauty  Phillips,  and 
conversation  with  the  Beauty  had  consisted  of  light- 
ning-witted  search  through  the  ends  of  the  earth  and 
the  seas  therein  for  extravagant  hyperbole  and  met- 
aphor. Harking  back  was  so  difficult  that  J.  Rufus 
gave  it  up. 

"Lovely  evening,"  he  admitted.  "I've  just  been 
thinking  about  this  weather.  I've  about  decided  to 
build  a  factory  to  put  it  up  in  boxes  for  the  Chi- 


SPECULATION  IN  REAL  ESTATE    237 

cago  Market.  They'd  pay  any  price  for  it  there  in 
the  fall." 

Miss  Fannie  considered  this  remark  in  silence  for 
a  moment,  and  then  she  laughed,  a  quiet,  silvery 
laugh  that  startled  J.  Rufus  by  its  musical  quality. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  laugh,"  protested 
Wallingford  gravely.  "If  a  man  can  get  a  monop- 
oly on  weather-canning  it  would  be  even  better  than 
the  sleep- factory  idea  I've  been  considering." 

"What  was  that  like?"  asked  Fannie,  interested  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  these  jokes  were  not  at  all  the 
good  old  standards,  which  could  be  laughed  at  with- 
out the  painful  necessity  of  thought. 

"Well,"  Wallingford  explained,  "I  figured  on 
building  an  immense  dormitory  and  hiring  about  a 
thousand  fat  hoboes  to  sleep  for  me  night  and  day. 
Then  I  intended  to  take  that  sleep  and  condense  it 
and  put  it  up  in  eight-hour  capsules  for  visitors  to 
New  York.  There  ought  to  be  a  fortune  in  that." 

Again  a  little  silence  and  again  that  little  silvery 
laugh  which  Wallingford  found  himself  watching 
for. 

"You're  so  funny,"  said  Miss  Fannie. 

"For  a  long  time  I  was  divided  between  that  and 
my  anti-bum  serum  as  a  permanent  investment,"  he 


238  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

went  on,  glancing  down  at  her  as  he  extended  him- 
self along  the  line  which  had  seemed  to  catch  her 
fancy.  She  was  looking  up  at  him,  her  eyes  shining, 
her  lips  half  parted  in  an  anticipatory  smile,  and  un- 
consciously her  hand  had  crept  upon  his  arm,  where 
it  lay  warm  and  vibrant.  "You  know,"  he  explained, 
"they  inoculate  a  guinea-pig  or  a  sheep  or  something 
with  disease  germs,  and  from  this  animal,  somehow 
or  other,  they  extract  a  serum  which  cures  that 
disease.  Well,  I  propose  to  get  a  herd  of  billy-goats 
boiling  spifflicated,  and  extract  from  them  the  jag 
serum,  and  with  that  inoculate  all  the  rounders  on 
Broadway  at  so  much  per  inoc.  Then  they  can 
stand  up  in  front  of  an  onyx  bar  and  guzzle  till  it 
oozes  out  of  their  ears,  without  any  worse  effects 
than  a  lifting  pain  in  the  right  elbow." 

This  time  the  laugh  came  more  slowly,  for  here 
was  a  lot  of  language  which,  though  refreshing,  was 
tangled  in  knots  that  must  be  unraveled.  Never- 
theless, the  laugh  came,  and  at  the  sound  of  it  Wall- 
ingford  involuntarily  pressed  slightly  against  his 
side  the  hand  that  lay  upon  his  arm.  They  were 
passing  Hen  Moozer's  General  Merchandise  Empo- 
rium and  Post-Office  at  the  time,  and  upon  the  rick- 
ety porch,  its  posts,  benches,  and  even  floors  whittled 


SPECULATION  IN   REAL  ESTATE    239 

like  a  huge  Rosetta  stone,  sat  a  group  of  five  young 
men.  Just  after  the  couple  had  cleared  the  end  of 
the  porch  a  series  of  derisive  meows  broke  out.  It 
was  the  old  protest  of  town  boy  against  city  boy, 
of  work  clothes  against  "Sunday  duds,"  of  native 
against  alien;  and  again  J.  Rufus  harked  back.  It 
only  provoked  a  smile  in  him,  but  he  felt  a  sudden 
tenseness  in  the  hand  that  lay  upon  his  arm,  and 
he  was  relieved  when  Bob  and  Molly,  a  half  block 
ahead  of  them,  turned  hastily  down  a  delightfully 
dark  and  shady  cross  street,  in  the  shelter  of  which 
Bob  immediately  slipped  his  arm  around  Molly's 
waist.  J.  Rufus,  pondering  that  movement  and 
regarding  it  as  the  entirely  conventional  and  proper 
one,  essayed  to  do  likewise ;  but  Miss  Fannie,  dis- 
cussing the  unpleasant  habit  of  her  young  townsmen 
with  some  indignation  but  more  sense  of  humor, 
gently  but  firmly  unwound  J.  Rufus'  arm,  placed  it 
at  his  side  and  slipped  her  hand  within  it  again 
without  the  loss  of  a  syllable. 

Wallingford  was  surprised  at  himself.  In  the  old 
days  he  would  have  fought  out  this  issue  and  would 
have  conquered.  Now,  however,  something  had 
made  this  bold  young  man  of  the  world  suddenly 
tame.  He  himself  helped  Miss  Fannie  to  put  him 


240  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

back  upon  grounds  of  friendly  aloofness,  and  with 
a  gasp  he  realized  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  had  met  a  girl  who  had  forced  his  entire  respect. 
It  was  preposterous ! 

Unaccountably,  however,  they  seemed  to  grow 
more  friendly  after  that,  and  the  talk  drifted  to  J. 
Rufus  himself,  the  places  he  had  seen,  the  adven- 
tures he  had  encountered,  the  richness  of  luxury  that 
he  had  sought  and  found,  and  the  girl  listened  with 
breathless  eagerness.  They  did  not  go  back  to  Maple 
Street  just  now,  for  the  Maple  Street  parade  was 
only  for  the  unattached.  Instead,  they  followed  the 
others  down  to  the  depot  and  back,  and  after  an- 
other half-hour  detour  through  the  quiet,  shady 
street,  they  found  Bob  and  Molly  waiting  for  them 
at  the  corner. 

"Good  night,  Fannie,"  said  Molly.  "I'm  going  in. 
To-morrow's  ironing  day.  Good  night,  Mr.  Wall- 
ingford." 

"Good  night,"  returned  Miss  Fannie,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  again  Wallingford  harked  back.  He 
was  to  take  Miss  Fannie  home.  Quite  naturally. 
Why  not? 

It  was  a  long  walk,  but  by  no  means  too  long,  and 
when  they  had  arrived  at  the  big,  fret-sawed  house 


SPECULATION  IN   REAL  ESTATE    241 

of  Jonas  Bubble,  J.  Rufus  was  sorry.  He  lingered 
a  moment  at  the  gate,  but  only  a  moment,  for  a 
woman's  shrill  voice  called: 

"Is  that  you,  Fannie?  You  come  right  in  here 
and  go  to  bed !  Who's  that  with  you  ?" 

"You'd  better  go  right  away,  please,"  pleaded 
Fannie  in  a  flutter.  "I'm  not  allowed  to  be  with 
strangers." 

This  would  have  been  the  cue  for  a  less  adroit  and 
diplomatic  caller  to  hurry  silently  back  up  the  street, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this  entirely  conventional 
course  was  all  that  Mrs.  Bubble  had  looked  for. 
She  was  accordingly  shocked  when  the  gate  opened, 
and  in  place  of  Fannie  coming  alone,  J.  Rufus,  in 
spite  of  the  girl's  protest,  walked  deliberately  up  to 
the  porch. 

"Is  Mr.  Bubble  at  home?"  he  asked  with  great 
dignity. 

Mrs.  Bubble  gasped. 

"I  reckon  he  is,"  she  admitted. 

"I'd  like  to  see  him,  if  possible." 

There  was  another  moment  of  silence,  in  which 
Mrs.  Bubble  strove  to  readjust  herself. 

"I'll  call  him,"  she  said,  and  went  in. 

Mr.  Jonas  Bubble,  revealed  in  the  light  of  the 


YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

open  door,  proved  to  be  a  pursy  man  of  about  fifty- 
five,  full  of  importance  from  his  square-toed  shoes 
to  his  gray  sideburns;  he  exuded  importance  from 
every  vest  button  upon  the  bulge  of  his  rotundity, 
and  importance  glistened  from  the  very  top  of  his 
bald  head. 

"I  am  J.  Rufus  Wallingford,"  said  that  broad- 
chested  young  gentleman,  whose  impressiveness  was 
at  least  equal  to  Mr.  Bubble's  importance,  and  he 
produced  a  neatly-engraved  card  to  prove  the  gen- 
uineness of  his  name.  "I  was  introduced  to  your 
daughter  at  the  hotel,  and  I  came  down  to  consult 
with  you  upon  a  little  matter  of  business." 

"I  usually  transact  business  at  my  office/'  said  Mr. 
Bubble  pompously ;  "nevertheless,  you  may  come  in- 
side." 

He  led  the  way  into  a  queer  combination  of  par- 
lor, library,  sitting-room  and  study,  where  he  lit  a 
big,  hanging  gasolene  lamp,  opened  his  old  swing- 
ing top  desk  with  a  key  which  he  carefully  and  pom- 
pously selected  from  a  pompous  bunch,  placed  a 
plush-covered  chair  for  his  visitor,  and  seated  him- 
self upon  an  old  leather-stuffed  chair  in  front  of  the 
desk. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  he,  swinging  around  to  Walling- 


SPECULATION  IN  REAL  ESTATE    243 

ford  and  puffing  out  his  cheeks,  "I  am  ready  to  con- 
sider whatever  you  may  have  to  say." 

Mr.  Wallingford's  first  action  was  one  well-cal- 
culated to  inspire  interest.  First  he  drew  out  the 
desk  slide  at  Mr.  Bubble's  left ;  then  from  his  inside 
vest  pocket  he  produced  a  large  flat  package  of 
greenbacks,  no  bill  being  of  less  than  a  hundred 
dollars'  denomination.  From  this  pile  he  carefully 
counted  out  eight  thousand  dollars,  and  put  the  bal- 
ance, which  Mr.  Bubble  hastily  estimated  at  about 
fifteen  hundred,  back  in  his  pocket.  This  procedure 
having  been  conducted  with  vast  and  impressive 
silence,  Mr.  Wallingford  cleared  his  throat. 

"I  have  come  to  ask  a  great  favor  of  you,"  said 
he,  sinking  his  voice  to  barely  above  a  whisper.  "I 
am  a  stranger  here.  I  find,  unfortunately,  that  there 
is  no  bank  in  Blakeville,  and  I  have  more  money 
with  me  than  I  care  to  carry  about.  I  learned  that 
you  are  the  only  real  man  of  affairs  in  the  town,  and 
have  come  to  ask  you  if  you  would  kindly  make 
room  for  this  in  your  private  safe  for  a  day  or  so." 

Mr.  Bubble,  rotating  his  thumbs  slowly  upon  each 
other,  considered  that  money  in  profound  silence. 
The  possessor  of  so  much  loose  cash  was  a  gentle- 
man, a  man  to  be  respected- 


244  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Bubble.  "I  don't  my- 
self like  to  have  so  much  money  about  me,  and  I'd 
advise  you,  as  soon  as  convenient,  to  take  it  up  to 
Millford,  where  I  do  my  banking.  In  the  mean- 
time, I  don't  blame  you,  Mr.  Wallingford,  for  not 
wanting  to  carry  this  much  money  about  with  you, 
nor  for  hesitating  to  put  it  in  Jim  Ranger's  old  tin 
safe." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Wallingford.  "I  feel  very 
much  relieved." 

Mr.  Bubble  drew  paper  and  pen  toward  him. 

"I'll  write  you  a  receipt,"  he  offered. 

"Not  at  all;  not  at  all,"  protested  Wallingford, 
having  gaged  Mr.  Bubble  very  accurately.  "Be- 
tween gentlemen  such  matters  are  entirely  super- 
fluous. By  the  way,  Mr.  Bubble,  I  see  you  have  a 
large  swamp  on  your  land.  Do  you  intend  to  let 
it  lie  useless  for  ever?" 

"What  else  can  I  do  with  it  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Bub- 
ble, wondering.  That  swamp  had  always  been  there. 
Naturally,  it  would  always  be  there. 

"You  can't  do  very  much  with  it,"  admitted  Wall- 
ingford. "However,  it  is  barely  possible  that  I 
might  see  a  way  to  utilize  it,  if  the  price  were  rea- 
sonable enough.  What  would  you  take  for  it?" 


SPECULATION  IN  REAL  ESTATE    245 

This  was  an  entirely  different  matter.  Mr.  Bub- 
ble pursed  up  his  lips. 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  The  land  surrounding  it  is 
worth  two  hundred  dollars  an  acre." 

Wallingford  grinned,  but  only  internally.  He 
knew  this  to  be  a  highly  exaggerated  estimate,  but 
he  let  it  pass  without  comment. 

"No  doubt,"  he  agreed ;  "but  your  swamp  is  worth 
exactly  nothing  per  square  mile ;  in  fact,  worth  less 
than  nothing.  It  is  only  a  breeding-place  of  mos- 
quitoes and  malaria.  How  many  acres  does  it 
cover?" 

"About  forty." 

"I  suppose  ten  dollars  an  acre  would  buy  it  ?" 

"By  no  means,"  protested  Mr.  Bubble.  "I 
wouldn't  have  a  right  of  way  split  through  my  farm 
for  four  hundred  dollars.  Couldn't  think  of  it." 

It  was  Wallingford's  turn  to  be  silent. 

"Tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  he  finally  began.  "I  think 
of  settling  down  in  Blakeville.  I  like  the  town  from 
what  I've  seen  of  it,  and  I  may  make  some  important 
investments  here." 

Mr.  Bubble  nodded  his  head  gravely.  A  man  who 
carried  over  eight  thousand  dollars  surplus  cash  in 
his  pocket  had  a  right  to  talk  that  way. 


246  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"The  matter,  of  course,"  continued  Wallingford, 
"requires  considerable  further  investigation.  In  the 
meantime,  I  stand  ready  to  pay  you  now  a  hundred 
dollars  for  a  thirty-day  option  upon  forty  acres  of 
your  swamp  land,  the  hundred  to  apply  upon  a  total 
purchase  price  of  one  thousand  dollars.  More- 
over, I'll  make  it  a  part  of  the  contract  that  no 
enterprise  be  undertaken  upon  this  ground  without 
receiving  your  sanction." 

Mr.  Bubble  considered  this  matter  in  pompous 
silence  for  some  little  time. 

"Suppose  we  just  reduce  that  proposition  to  writ- 
ing, Mr.  Wallingford,"  he  finally  suggested,  and 
without  stirring  from  his  seat  he  raised  his  voice 
and  called :  "Fannie !" 

In  reply  two  voices  approached  the  door,  one 
sharp,  querulous,  nagging,  the  other,  the  younger 
and  fresher  voice,  protesting;  then  the  girl  came  in, 
followed  closely  by  her  stepmother.  The  girl  looked 
at  Wallingford  brightly.  He  was  the  first  young 
man  who  had  bearded  the  lioness  at  Bubble  Villa, 
and  she  appreciated  the  novelty.  Mrs.  Bubble,  how- 
ever, distinctly  glared  at  him,  though  the  eyes  of 
lx>th  women  rovecj  from  him  to  the  pile  of  bills 


SPECULATION  IN  REAL  ESTATE    247 

held  down  with  a  paper  weight  on  Mr.  Bubble's 
desk.  Mr.  Bubble  made  way  for  his  daughter. 

"Write  a  little  agreement  for  Mr.  Wallingford 
and  myself,"  directed  Mr.  Bubble,  and  dictated  it, 
much  to  the  surprise  of  the  women,  for  Jonas  al- 
ways did  his  own  writing.  They  did  not  understand 
that  he,  also,  wished  to  make  an  impression. 

With  a  delicate  flush  of  self-consciousness  in  her 
occupation  Fannie  wrote  the  option  agreement,  and 
later  another  document,  acknowledging  the  receipt 
of  eight  thousand  dollars  to  be  held  in  trust.  In 
exchange  for  the  first  paper  J.  Rufus  gravely  handed 
Mr.  Bubble  a  hundred-dollar  bill. 

"To-morrow,"  said  he,  "I  shall  drop  around  to 
see  you  at  your  office,  to  confer  with  you  about  my 
proposed  enterprise." 

As  Wallingford  left  the  room,  attended  by  the 
almost  obsequious  Bubble,  he  caught  a  lingering 
glance  of  interest,  curiosity,  and  perhaps  more,  from 
the  bright  eyes  of  Fannie  Bubble.  Her  stepmother, 
however,  distinctly  sniffed. 

Meanwhile,  Wallingford,  at  the  gate,  turned  for 
a  moment  toward  the  distant  swamp  where  it  lay 
now  ebony  and  glittering  silver  in  the  moonlight, 


248  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

knitted  his  brows  in  perplexity,  lit  another  of  his 
black  cigars,  and  strolled  back  to  the  hotel. 

What  on  earth  should  he  do  with  that  swamp,  now 
that  he  had  it  ?  Something  good  ought  to  be  hinged 
on  it.  Should  he  form  a  drainage  company  to  re- 
store it  to  good  farming  land?  No.  At  best  he 
could  only  get  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  an  acre, 
or,  say,  six  thousand  dollars  for  the  forty.  The 
acreage  alone  was  to  cost  him  a  thousand ;  no  telling 
what  the  drainage  would  cost,  but  whatever  the 
figure  there  would  not  be  profit  enough  to  hypothe- 
cate. And  it  was  no  part  of  Wallingford's  intention 
to  do  any  actual  work.  He  was  through  for  ever 
with  drudgery ;  for  him  was  only  creation. 

What  should  he  do  with  that  swamp?  As  he 
thought  of  it,  his  mind's  eye  could  see  only  its  black- 
ness. It  was,  after  all,  only  a  mass  of  dense,  sticky, 
black  mud ! 

Still  revolving  this  problem  in  mind,  Wallingford 
went  to  his  bedroom,  where  he  had  scarcely  arrived 
when  Bob  Ranger  followed  him,  his  sleeves  rolled  up 
again  and  a  pail  of  steaming  water  in  each  hand. 

"The  old  man  said  you  was  to  have  a  bath  when 
you  come  in,"  stated  Bob.  "How  hot  do  you  want 
it?" 


SPECULATION  IN  REAL  ESTATE    249 

"I  think  I'll  let  it  go  till  morning  and  have  it  cold," 
replied  Wallingford,  chuckling. 

"All  right,"  said  Bob.  "It's  your  funeral  and  not 
mine.  I'll  just  pour  this  in  now  and  it'll  get  cool 
by  morning." 

In  the  next  room — wherein  the  bed  had  been 
hastily  replaced  by  two  chairs,  an  old  horsehair 
lounge  and  a  kitchen  table  covered  with  a  red  table- 
cloth— Wallingford  found  a  huge  tin  bathtub, 
shaped  like  an  elongated  coal  scuttle,  dingy  white 
on  the  inside  and  dingy  green  on  the  outside,  and 
battered  full  of  dents. 

"How'd  you  get  along?"  asked  Bob,  pausing  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  brow  after  he  had 
emptied  the  two  pails  of  water  into  the  tub. 

"All  right,"  said  Wallingford  with  a  reminiscent 
smile. 

"Old  Mrs.  Bubble  drive  you  off  the  place?" 

"No,"  replied  Wallingford  loftily.  "I  went  in 
the  house  and  talked  a  while." 

"Go  on!"  exclaimed  Bob,  the  glow  of  admira- 
tion almost  shining  through  his  skin.  "Say,  you're 
a  peach,  all  right!  How  do  you  like  Fannie?" 

"She's  a  very  nice  girl,"  opined  Wallingford. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Bob.     "She's  getting  a  little  old, 


250  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

though.     She  was  twenty  her  last  birthday.     She'll 
be  an  old  maid  pretty  soon,  but  it's  her  own  fault." 

Then  Bob  went  after  more  water,  and  Walling- 
ford,  seating  himself  at  the  table  with  paper  and 
pencil,  plunged  into  a  succession  of  rambling  figures 
concerning  Jonas  Bubble's  black  swamp;  and  he 
figured  and  puzzled  far  into  the  night,  with  the 
piquant  face  of  Miss  Fannie  drifting  here  and  there 
among  the  figures. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHEREIN    BLAKEVILLE    HAS    OPPORTUNITY    TO    BE- 
COME A  GREAT  ART  CENTER 

THE  next  morning  Wallingford  requisitioned 
the  services  of  Bob  and  the  little  sorrel  team 
again,  and  drove  out  to  Jonas  Bubble's  swamp.  Ar- 
rived there  he  climbed  the  fence,  and,  taking  a  sliver 
of  fence  rail  with  him,  gravely  prodded  into  the  edge 
of  the  swamp  in  various  places,  hauling  it  up  in 
each  case  dripping  with  viscid  black  mud,  which  he 
examined  with  the  most  minute  care,  dropping  tiny 
drops  upon  the  backs  of  clean  cards  and  spreading 
them  out  smoothly  with  the  tip  of  his  finger,  while 
he  looked  up  into  the  sky  inquiringly,  not  one  ges- 
ture of  his  conduct  lost  upon  the  curious  Bob. 

When  he  climbed  back  into  the  buggy.  Bob,  find- 
ing it  impossible  longer  to  restrain  his  quivering 
curiosity,  asked  him: 

"What's  it  good  for?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  just  yet,"  said  Wallingford 
kindly,  "but  if  it  is  what  I  think  it  is,  Bob,  I've 
251 


252  YOUNG   .WALLINGFORD 

made  a  great  discovery,  one  that  I  am  sure  will  not 
only  increase  my  wealth  but  add  greatly  to  the  riches 
of  Blakeville.  Do  you  know  where  I  could  find 
Jonas  Bubble  at  this  hour  ?" 

"Down  at  the  mill,  sure." 

"Drive  down  there." 

As  they  drove  past  Jonas  Bubble's  house  they 
saw  Miss  Fannie  on  the  back  porch,  in  an  old  wrap- 
per, peeling  potatoes,  and  heard  the  sharp  voice  of 
the  second  Mrs.  Bubble  scolding  her. 

"Say,"  said  Bob,  "if  that  old  rip  was  my  step- 
mother I'd  poke  her  head-first  into  that  swamp  back 
yonder." 

Wallingford  shook  his  head. 

"She'd  turn  it  black,"  he  gravely  objected. 

"Why,  it  is  black,"  protested  Bob,  opening  his 
eyes  in  bewilderment. 

In  reply  to  this  Wallingford  merely  chuckled. 
Bob,  regarding  him  in  perplexity  for  a  while,  sud- 
denly saw  that  this  was  a  joke,  and  on  the  way  to 
the  mill  he  snickered  a  score  of  times.  Queer  chap, 
this  Wallingford;  rich,  no  doubt,  and  smart  as  a 
whip ;  and  something  mysterious  about  him,  too ! 

Wallingford  found  Jonas  Bubble  in  flour-sifted 
garments  in  his  office,  going  over  a  dusty  file  of  bills. 


A    GREAT    ART    CENTER  253 

"Mr.  Bubble,"  said  he,  "I  have  been  down  to  your 
swamp  and  have  investigated  its  possibilities.  I  am 
now  prepared,  since  I  have  secured  the  right  to  pur- 
chase this  land,  to  confide  to  you  the  business  search 
in  which  I  have  for  some  time  been  engaged,  and 
which  now,  I  hope,  is  concluded.  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Bubble,  the  valuable  deposit  I  think  I  have 
found  in  my  swamp?" 

"No!"  ejaculated  Bubble,  stricken  solemn  by  the 
confidential  tone.  "What  is  it?" 

Wallingford  took  a  long  breath,  swelling  out  his 
already  broad  chest,  and,  leaning  over  most  impres- 
sively, tapped  his  compelling  finger  upon  Jonas  Bub- 
ble's knee.  Then  said  he,  with  almost  tragic  earnest- 
ness: 

"Black  Mud!" 

Jonas  Bubble  drew  back  astounded,  eying  Wall- 
ingford with  affrighted  incredulity.  He  had  thought 
this  young  man  sane. 

"Black—"  he  gasped;  "black—"  and  then  hesi- 
tated. 

"Mud!"  finished  Wallifigford  for  him,  more  im- 
pressively than  before.  "High  and  low,  far  and 
near,  Mr.  Bubble,  I  have  searched  for  a  deposit  of 
this  sort.  Wherever  there  was  a  swamp  I  have  been, 


254  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

but  never  until  I  came  to  Blakeville  did  I  find  what 
I  believe  to  be  the  correct  quality  of  black  mud." 

"Black  mud,"  repeated  Jonas  Bubble  meaning- 
lessly,  but  awed  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Etruscan  black  mud,"  corrected  Wallingford. 
"The  same  rare  earth  out  of  which  the  world  famous 
Etruscan  pottery  is  manufactured  in  the  little  village 
of  Etrusca,  near  Milan,  Italy.  The  smallest  objects 
of  this  beautiful  jet-black  pottery  retail  in  this 
country  from  ten  dollars  upward.  With  your  per- 
mission I  am  going  to  express  some  samples  of  this 
deposit  to  the  world-famous  pottery  designer,  Signor 
Vittoreo  Matteo,  formerly  in  charge  of  the  Etruscan 
Pottery,  but  who  is  now  in  Boston  waiting  with 
feverish  impatience  for  me  to  find  a  suitable  deposit 
of  this  rare  black  mud.  If  I  have  at  last  found  it, 
Mr.  Bubble,  I  wish  to  congratulate  you  and  Blake- 
ville, as  well  as  myself,  upon  the  acquisition  of  an 
enterprise  which  will  not  only  reflect  vast  credit  on 
your  charming  and  progressive  little  town,  but  will 
bring  it  a  splendid  accession  of  wealth." 

Mr.  Bubble  rose  from  his  chair  and  shook  hands 
with  young  Wallingford  in  great,  though  pompous, 
emotion. 

"My  son,"  said  he,  "go  right  ahead.     Take  all 


A   GREAT   ART    CENTER  255 

of  it  you  want — that  is,"  he  hastily  corrected  him- 
self, "all  you  need  for  experimental  purposes."  For, 
he  reflected,  there  was  no  need  to  waste  any  of  the 
rare  and  valuable  Etruscan  black  mud.  "I  think  I'll 
go  with  you." 

"I'd  be  pleased  to  have  you,"  said  Wallingford, 
as,  indeed,  he  was. 

On  the  way,  Wallingford  stopped  at  Hen 
Moozer's  General  Merchandise  Emporium  and 
Post-Office,  where  he  bought  a  large  tin  pail  with  a 
tight  cover,  a  small  tin  pail  and  a  long-handled 
garden  trowel  which  he  bent  at  right  angles;  and 
seven  people  walked  off  of  Hen  Moozer's  porch  into 
the  middle  of  the  street  to  see  the  town  magnate 
and  the  resplendent  stranger,  driven  by  the  elated 
Bob  Ranger,  whirl  down  Maple  Street  toward  Jonas 
Bubble's  swamp. 

Arrived  there,  who  so  active  in  direction  as  Jonas 
Bubble? 

"Bob,"  he  ordered,  protruding  his  girth  at  least 
three  inches  beyond  its  normal  position,  "hitch  those 
horses  and  jump  over  in  the  field  here  with  us.  Mr. 
Wallingford,  you  will  want  this  sample  from  some- 
where near  the  center  of  the  swamp.  Bob,  back 
yonder  beyond  that  clump  of  bushes  you  will  find 


256  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

that  old  flatboat  we  had  right  after  the  big  rainy 
season.  Hunt  around  down  there  for  a  long  pole 
and  pole  out  some  place  near  the  middle.  Take  this 
shovel  and  dig  down  and  get  mud  enough  to  fill 
these  two  buckets." 

Bob  stood  unimpressed.  It  was  not  an  attractive 
task. 

"And  Bob,"  added  Wallingford  mildly,  "here's 
a  dollar,  and  I  know  where  there's  another." 

"Sure,"  said  Bob  with  the  greatest  of  alacrity, 
and  he  hurried  back  to  where  the  old  flatboat,  water- 
soaked  and  nearly  as  black  as  the  swamp  upon  which 
it  rested,  was  half  submerged  beyond  the  clump  of 
bushes.  When,  after  infinite  labor,  he  had  pushed 
that  clumsy  craft  afloat  upon  the  bosom  of  the  shal- 
low swamp,  Mr.  Bubble  was  on  the  spot  with  infinite 
direction.  He  told  Bob,  shouting  from  the  shore, 
just  where  to  proceed  and  how,  down  to  the  hand- 
ling of  each  trowelful  of  dripping  mud,  and  even 
to  the  emptying  of  each  small  pailful  into  the  large 
pail. 

"I  don't  know  exactly  how  I'll  get  this  boxed  for 
shipping,"  hinted  Wallingford,  as  Bob  carried  the 
pail  laboriously  back  to  the  buggy. 

"Right  down  at  the  mill,"  invited  Mr.  Bubble  with 


A   GREAT  ART   CENTER          257 

great  cordiality.  "I'll  have  my  people  look  after  it 
for  you." 

"That's  very  kind  of  you,"  replied  Wallingford. 
"I'll  give  you  the  address,"  and  upon  the  back  of 
one  of  his  own  cards  he  wrote :  Sig.  Vittoreo  Mat- 
teo,  710  Marabon  Building,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A., 
care  Horace  G.  Daw. 

That  night  he  wrote  a  careful  letter  of  explana- 
tion to  Horace  G.  Daw. 

Two  weeks  to  wait.  Oh,  well,  Wallingford  could 
amuse  himself  by  working  up  a  local  reputation. 
It  was  while  he  was  considering  this,  upon  the  fol- 
lowing day,  that  a  farmer  with  three  teeth  drove  up 
in  a  dilapidated  spring-wagon  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
beautiful  bay  horses,  and  stopped  in  front  of  Jim 
Ranger's  livery  and  sales  stable  to  talk  hay.  Wall- 
ingford, sitting  in  front  of  the  hotel  in  lazy  medita- 
tion, walked  over  and  examined  the  team  with  a 
critical  eye.  They  were  an  exquisite  match,  perfect 
in  every  limb,  with  manes  and  tails  and  coats  of 
that  peculiar  silken  sheen  belonging  to  perfect  health 
and  perfect  care. 

"Very  nice  team  you  have,"  observed  Walling- 
ford. 

"Finest  match  team  anywhere,"   agreed  Abner 


258  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Follis,  plucking  at  his  gray  goatee  and  mouthing  a 
straw,  "an5  I  make  a  business  o'  raisin'  thorough- 
breds. Cousins,  they  are,  an'  without  a  blemish 
on  'em.  An*  trot — you'd  ought  to  see  that  team 
trot" 

"What'll  you  take  for  them?"  asked  Wallingford. 

The  response  of  Abner  Follis  was  quick  and  to  the 
point.  He  kept  a  careful  appraisement  upon  all 
his  live  stock. 

"Seven  hundred  and  fifty,"  said  he,  naming  a 
price  that  allowed  ample  leeway  for  dickering. 

It  was  almost  a  disappointment  to  him  that  Wall- 
ingford produced  his  wallet,  counted  over  the  exact 
amount  that  had  been  asked,  and  said  briefly : 

"Unhitch  them." 

"Well !"  said  Abner,  slowly  taking  the  money  and 
throwing  away  his  straw  in  petulance.  It  was  dull 
and  uninteresting  to  have  a  bargain  concluded  so 
quickly. 

Wallingford,  however,  knew  what  he  was  about. 
Within  an  hour  everybody  in  town  knew  of  his  pur- 
chase. Speculation  that  had  been  mildly  active  con- 
cerning him  now  became  feverish.  He  was  a  rich 
nabob  with  money  to  throw  away;  had  so  much 
money  that  he  would  not  even  dicker  in  a  horse  deal 


A    GREAT    ART    CENTER  259 

— and  this  was  the  height  of  human  recklessness 
in  Blakeville.  Wallingford,  purchasing  Jim  Ranger's 
new  buggy  and  his  best  set  of  harness,  drove  to  the 
Bubbles',  the  eyed  of  all  observers,  but  before  he 
had  opened  the  gate  Mrs.  Bubble  was  on  the  porch. 

"Jonas  ain't  at  home,"  she  shrilled  down  at  him. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Wallingford ;  "but  I  came 
to  see  Miss  Fannie." 

"She's  busy,"  said  Mrs.  Bubble  with  forbidding 
loftiness.  "She's  in  the  kitchen  getting  dinner." 

Wallingford,  however,  strode  quite  confidently  up 
the  walk,  and  by  the  time  he  reached  the  porch  Miss 
Fannie  was  in  the  door,  removing  her  apron. 

"What  a  pretty  turnout !"  she  exclaimed. 

"It's  a  beauty,"  agreed  Wallingford.  "I  just 
bought  it  from  Abner  Follis." 

She  smiled. 

"I  bet  he  beat  you  in  the  bargain." 

"So  long  as  I'm  satisfied,"  retorted  Wallingford, 
smiling  back  at  her,  "I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't 
all  be  happy.  Come  on  and  take  the  first  ride  in  it." 

She  glanced  at  her  stepmother  dubiously. 

"I'm  very  busy,"  she  replied;  "and  I'd  have  to 
change  my  dress." 

"You  look  good  enough  just  as  you  are,"  he  in- 


260  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

sisted.  "Come  right  on.  Mrs.  Bubble  can  finisH 
the  dinner.  I'll  bet  she's  a  better  cook,  anyhow," 
and  he  laughed  cordially. 

The  remark  was  intended  as  a  compliment,  but 
Mrs.  Bubble  took  distinct  umbrage.  This  was,  with- 
out doubt,  a  premeditated  slur.  Of  course  he  knew 
that  she  had  once  been  Mr.  Bubble's  cook! 

"Fannie  can't  go,"  she  snapped. 

Wallingford  walked  straight  up  to  Mrs.  Bubble, 
beaming  down  upon  her  from  his  overawing  height ; 
and  for  just  one  affrighted  moment  Fannie  feared 
that  he  intended  to  uptilt  her  stepmother's  chin,  or 
make  some  equally  familiar  demonstration.  In- 
stead, he  only  laughed  down  into  that  lady's  bellig- 
erent eyes. 

"Yes,  she  can,"  he  insisted  with  large  persuasive- 
ness. "You  were  young  once  yourself,  Mrs.  Bubble, 
and  not  so  very  long  ago." 

It  was  not  what  he  said,  but  his  jovial  air  of 
secret  understanding,  that  made  Mrs.  Bubble  flush 
and  laugh  nervously  and  soften. 

"Oh,  I  reckon  I  can  get  along,"  she  said. 

Miss  Fannie,  with  a  wondering  glance  at  Wall- 
ingford, had  already  flown  up-stairs,  and  J.  Rufus 
get  himself  deliberately  to  be  agreeable  to  Mrs. 


A   GREAT   ART   CENTER  261 

Bubble.  When  Fannie  came  tripping  down  again 
in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  having  shaken 
herself  out  of  one  frock  and  into  another  with  an 
expedition  which  surprised  even  herself,  she  found 
her  stepmother  actually  giggling!  And  when  the 
young  couple  drove  away  in  the  bright,  shining  new 
rig  behind  the  handsome  bays,  Mrs.  Bubble  watched 
after  them  with  something  almost  like  wistfulness. 
She  had  been  young  herself,  once — and  not  so  very 
long  ago ! 

Opposite  the  Bubble  swamp  Wallingford  stopped 
for  a  moment. 

"I  hope  to  be  a  very  near  neighbor  of  yours,"  said 
he,  waving  his  hand  out  toward  the  wonderful  de- 
posit of  genuine  Etruscan  black  mud.  "Did  your 
father  tell  you  about  the  pottery  studios  which  may 
be  built  here  ?" 

"Not  a  thing,"  she  confessed  with  a  slightly  jeal- 
ous laugh.  "Papa  never  tells  us  anything  at  home. 
We'll  hear  it  on  the  street,  no  doubt,  as  we  usually 
do." 

"Your  father  is  a  most  estimable  man,  but  I  fear 
he  makes  a  grave  mistake  in  not  telling  you  about 
things,"  declared  Wallingford.  "I  believe  in  the 
value  of  a  woman's  intuition,  and  if  I  were  a§ 


262  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

closely  related  to  you  as  your  father  I  am  sure  I 
should  confide  all  my  prospects  to  you." 

Miss  Fannie  gave  a  little  inward  gasp.  That 
serious  tide  in  the  talk,  fraught  with  great  possi- 
bilities, for  which  every  girl  longs  and  which  every 
girl  dreads,  was  already  setting  ashore. 

"You  might  get  fooled,"  she  said.  "Father  don't 
think  any  woman  has  very  much  gumption,  and  least 
of  all  me,  since — since  he  married  again." 

"I  understand,"  said  Wallingford  gently,  and 
drove  on.  "Just  to  show  you  how  much  differently 
I  look  at  things  from  your  father,  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  all  about  the  black  pottery  project  and  see  what 
you  think  of  it." 

Thereupon  he  explained  to  her  in  minute  detail, 
a  wealth  of  which  came  to  him  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  the  exact  workings  of  the  Etruscan  pottery 
art.  He  painted  for  her,  in  the  gray  of  stone  and 
the  yellow  of  face  brick  and  the  red  of  tiling,  the 
beautiful  studio  buildings  that  were  to  be  erected 
yonder  facing  the  swamp;  he  showed  her  through 
cozy,  cheerfully  lighted  apartments  in  those  studios, 
where  the  best  trained  artists  of  Europe,  under  the 
direction  of  the  wizard,  Vittoreo  Matteo,  should  ex- 
ecute ravishments  of  Etruscan  black  pottery;  he 


A    GREAT    ART    CENTER  263 

showed  her,  as  the  bays  pranced  on,  connoisseurs 
and  collectors  coming  from  all  over  the  country  to 
visit  the  Blakeville  studios,  and  carrying  away  price- 
less gems  of  the  ceramic  art  at  incalculable  prices! 

The  girl  drank  in  all  these  details  with  thirsty 
avidity. 

"It's  splendid!  Perfectly  grand!"  she  assured 
him  with  vast  enthusiasm,  and  in  her  memory  was 
stored  every  precious  word  that  this  genius  had  said ; 
and  they  were  stored  in  logical  order,  ready  to  re- 
produce on  the  slightest  provocation,  which  was  pre- 
cisely the  result  which  .Wallingford  had  intended  to 
produce. 

It  was  nearing  noon  now,  and  making  a  detour 
by  the  railway  road  they  drove  up  in  front  of  the 
mill  with  the  spanking  bays  just  as  Jonas  Bubble 
was  coming  out  of  his  office  to  go  to  dinner.  Hilar- 
iously they  invited  him  into  the  carriage,  and  in  state 
drove  him  home. 

Wallingford  very  wisely  kept  away  from  the  Bub- 
ble home  that  afternoon  and  that  evening,  and  by 
the  next  morning  every  woman  in  town  had  told  all 
her  men- folk  about  the  vast  Etruscan  black  pottery 
project ! 


CHAPTER  XX 

WALLINGFORD  BEGINS  TO  UTILIZE  THE  WONDERFUL 
ETRUSCAN   BLACK    MUD 

WALLINGFORD  was  just  going  in  to  din- 
ner when  a  tall,  thin-visaged  young  lady, 
who  might  have  been  nearing  thirty,  but  insisted  on 
all  the  airs  and  graces  of  twenty,  came  boldly  up  to 
the  Atlas  Hotel  in  search  of  him,  and,  by  her  right 
of  being  a  public  character,  introduced  herself.  She 
was  Miss  Forsythe,  principal  over  one  other  teacher 
in  the  Blakeville  public  school;  moreover,  she  was 
president  of  the  Women's  Culture  Club! 

"It  is  about  the  latter  that  I  came  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Wallingford,"  she  said,  pushing  back  a  curl  which 
had  been  carefully  trained  to  be  wayward.  "The 
Women's  Culture  Club  meets  this  coming  Satur- 
day afternoon  at  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Moozer.  It 
just  happens  that  we  are  making  an  exhaustive  study 
of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  and  we  have  nothing, 
positively  nothing,  about  the  renaissance  of  Italian 

264 
I 


ETRUSCAN    BLACK    MUD  265 

ceramics !  I  beg  of  you,  Mr.  Wallingf ord,  I  plead 
with  you,  to  be  our  guest  upon  that  afternoon  and 
address  us  upon  Etruscan  Pottery." 

Wallingford  required  but  one  second  to  adjust 
himself  to  this  new  phase.  This  was  right  where  he 
lived.  He  could  out-pretend  anybody  who  ever 
made  pretensions  to  having  a  pretense.  He  ex- 
panded his  broad  chest  and  beamed. 

He  knew  but  little  about  art,  being  only  the  busi- 
ness man  of  the  projected  American  Etruscan  Black 
Pottery  Studios,  but  he  would  be  more  than  pleased 
to  tell  them  that  little.  He  would,  in  fact,  be 
charmed ! 

"You  don't  know  how  kind,  how  good  you  are, 
and  what  a  treat  your  practical  talk  will  be,  I  am 
sure,"  gurgled  Miss  Forsythe,  biting  first  her  upper 
lip  and  then  her  lower  to  make  them  redder,  and 
then,  still  gurgling,  she  swept  away,  leaving  Wall- 
ingford chuckling. 

Immediately  after  lunch  he  went  over  to  the  tele- 
graph office  and  wired  to  the  most  exclusive  estab- 
lishment of  its  sort  in  New  York : 

Express  three  black  pottery  vases  Etruscan  pre- 
ferred but  most  expensive  you  have  one  eighteen 
inches  high  and  two  twelve  inches  high  am  wiring 


266  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

fifty  dollars  to  insure  transportation  send  balance 
c.  o.  D. 


Not  the  least  of  J.  Rufus'  smile  was  that  inserted 
clause,  "Etruscan  preferred."  He  had  not  the  slight- 
est idea  that  there  was  such  pottery  as  Etruscan  in 
the  world,  but  his  sage  conclusion  was  that  the  big 
firm  would  think  they  had  overlooked  something; 
and  his  other  clause,  "most  expensive  you  have," 
would  insure  proper  results.  That  night  he  wrote 
to  Blackie  Daw: 


Whatever  you  do,  don't  buy  vase  either  twelve  or 
eighteen  inches  high.     Send  one  about  nine. 


Saturday  morning  the  package  came,  and  the 
excess  bill  was  two  hundred  and  forty-five  dollars, 
exclusive  of  express  charges,  all  of  which  J.  Rufus 
cheerfully  paid.  He  had  that  box  delivered  un- 
opened to  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Henry  Moozer. 
That  afternoon  he  dressed  himself  with  consummate 
care,  his  gray  frock  suit  and  his  gray  bow  tie,  his 
gray  waistcoat  and  his  gray  spats,  by  some  subtle 
personality  he  threw  about  them,  conveying  deli- 
cately the  idea  of  an  ardent  art  amateur,  but  an 


ETRUSCAN    BLACK    MUD  267 

humble  one,  because  he  felt  himself  insufficiently 
gifted  to  take  part  in  actual  creation. 

Was  Miss  Forsythe  there?  Miss  Forsythe  was 
there,  in  her  pink  silk,  with  cascade  after  cascade 
of  ruffled  flounces  to  take  away  the  appalling  height 
and  thinness  of  her  figure.  Was  Mrs.  Moozer  there? 
Dimly  discernible,  yes,  backed  into  a  corner  and  no 
longer  mistress  of  her  own  house,  though  ineffec- 
tually trying  to  assert  herself  above  a  determined 
leadership.  Also  were  there  Mrs.  Ranger,  who  was 
trying  hard  to  learn  to  dote;  Mrs.  Priestly,  who 
prided  herself  on  a  marked  resemblance  to  Madame 
Melba,  and  had  a  high  C  which  shattered  chande- 
liers ;  and  Mrs.  Hispin,  whose  troublesome  mustache 
in  nowise  interfered  with  her  mad  passion  for  the 
collection  of  antiques,  which,  fortunately  consist- 
ing of  early  chromos,  could  be  purchased  cheaply  in 
the  vicinity  of  Blakeville;  and  Mrs.  Bubble,  whose 
specialty  was  the  avoidance  of  all  subjects  connected 
with  domestic  science.  Many  other  equally  earnest 
and  cultured  ladies  flocked  about  J.  Rufus,  as  bees 
around  a  buckwheat  blossom,  until  the  capable  and 
masterly  president,  by  a  careful  accident  arranging 
her  skirts  so  that  one  inch  of  silken  hose  was  visible, 
tapped  her  little  silver  gavel  for  order. 


268  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

There  ensued  the  regular  reports  of  committees, 
ponderous  and  grave  in  their  frivolity ;  there  ensued 
unfinished  business — relating  to  a  disputed  sun?  of 
thirty-nine  cents;  there  ensued  new  business — relat- 
ing to  a  disputed  flaw  :n  the  constitution ;  there  en- 
sued a  discussion  of  scarcely  repressed  acidity  upon 
the  right  of  the  president  to  interfere  in  committee 
work;  and  then  the  gurgling  president — with  many 
a  reference  to  the  great  masters  in  Italian  art,  with 
a  wide  digression  into  the  fields  of  ceramics  in 
general  and  of  Italian  ceramics  in  particular,  with 
a  complete  history  of  the  plastic  arts  back  to  the 
ooze  stage  of  geological  formation — introduced  the 
speaker  of  the  day. 

J.  Rufus,  accepting  gracefully  his  prominence, 
bowed  extravagantly  three  times  in  response  to  the 
Chautauqua  salute,  and  addressed  those  nineteen 
assembled  ladies  with  a  charming  earnestness  which 
did  vast  credit  to  himself  and  to  the  Italian  ceramic 
renaissance.  He  invented  for  them  on  the  spot  a 
history  of  Etruscan  pottery,  a  process  of  making  it, 
a  discovery  of  the  wonderful  Etruscan  under-glaze, 
and  the  eye-moistening  struggles  and  triumphs  of 
the  great  Vittoreo  Matteo  from  obscurity  as  a  poor 
little  barefooted  Italian  shepherd  boy  who  was 


ETRUSCAN    BLACK    MUD  269 

caught  constructing  wonderful  figures  out  of  plain 
mud. 

He  regretted  very  much  that  he  had  been  unable 
to  secure,  at  such  short  notice,  samples  of  the  famous 
Etruscan  pottery  which  this  same  Vittoreo  Matteo 
had  made  famous,  but  he  had  secured  the  next  best 
thing,  and  with  renewed  apologies  to  Mrs.  Moozer, 
who  had  kindly  consented  to  have  a  litter  made  upon 
her  carpet,  he  would  unpack  the  vases  which  had 
come  that  morning.  With  a  fine  eye  for  stage 
effect,  Wallingford  had  had  the  covers  of  the  boxes 
loosened,  but  had  not  had  the  excelsior  removed. 
Now  he  had  the  box  brought  in  and  placed  it  upon 
the  table,  and  then,  from  amid  their  careful  wrap- 
pings, the  precious  vases  were  lifted! 

"Ah !"  —  "How  ^-quisite !"  —  "Bee-yewtiful !" 
Such  was  the  chorus  of  the  enraptured  culture  club. 

Wallingford,  smiling  in  calm  triumph,  was  able 
to  assure  the  almost  fainting  worshipers  that  these 
were  but  feeble  substitutes  for  the  exquisite  creations 
that  were  shortly  to  be  turned  out  in  the  studios 
that  were  to  make  Blakeville  famous.  Yes,  he 
might  now  promise  them  that  definitely !  The  mat- 
ter was  no  longer  one  of  conjecture.  That  very 
morning  he  had  received  an  epoch-making  letter 


270  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

from  the  great  Vittoreo  Matteo!  This  letter  he 
read.  It  fairly  exuded  with  tears — warm,  emo- 
tional, Latin  tears  of  joy — over  the  discovery  of  this 
priceless,  this  glorious,  this  -beatific  black  mud !  Al- 
ready the  great  Vittoreo  was  at  work  upon  the 
sample  sent  him,  modeling  a  vase  after  one  of  his 
own  famous  shapes  of  Etrusca.  It  would  soon  be 
completed,  he  would  have  it  fired,  and  then  he  would 
send  it  to  his  dear  friend  and  successful  manager, 
so  that  he  might  himself  judge  how  inexpressibly 
more  than  perfect  was  the  wonderful  mud  of  Blake- 
ville. 

Mr.  Wallingford  was  himself  transported  to 
nearly  as  ecstatic  heights  over  the  prospect  as  the 
redoubtable  Vittoreo  Matteo,  and  as  a  memento  of 
this  auspicious  day  he  begged  to  present  the  largest 
of  these  vases  to  the  Women's  Culture  Club,  to  be 
in  the  keeping  of  its  charming  president.  One  of  the 
smaller  vases  he  begged  to  present  to  the  hostess  of 
the  afternoon  in  token  of  the  delightful  hour  he  had 
spent  in  that  house.  The  other  he  retained  to  pre- 
sent to  a  very  gracious  matron,  the  hospitality  of 
whose  home  he  had  already  enjoyed,  and  with  whose 
eminent  husband  he  had  already  held  the  most 
pleasant  business  relations ;  whereat  Mrs.  Jonas  Bub- 


ETRUSCAN    BLACK    MUD  271 

ble  fairly  wriggled  lest  her  confusion  might  not  be 
seen  or  correctly  interpreted. 

Close  upon  the  frantic  applause  which  followed 
these  graceful  gifts,  pale  tea  and  pink  wafers  were 
served  by  the  Misses  Priestly,  Hispin,  Moozer  and 
Bubble,  and  the  function  was  over  except  for 
the  fluttering.  Inadvertently,  almost  apparently 
quite  inadvertently,  when  he  went  away,  J.  Rufus 
left  behind  him  the  crumpled  c.  o.  D.  bill  which  he 
had  held  in  his  hand  while  talking.  That  night 
Blakeville,  from  center  to  circumference,  was  talk- 
ing of  nothing  but  the  prices  of  Etruscan  vases. 
.Why,  these  prices  were  not  only  stupendous,  they 
were  impossible — and  yet  there  was  the  receipted 
bill !  To  think  that  anybody  would  pay  real  money 
in  such  enormous  dole  for  mere  earthen  vases!  It 
was  preposterous;  it  was  incredible — and  yet  there 
was  the  bill !  Visions  of  wealth  never  before  grasped 
by  the  minds  of  the  citizens  of  Blakeville  began  to 
loom  in  the  immediate  horizon  of  every  man,  wom- 
an and  child,  and  over  all  these  visions  of  wealth 
hovered  the  beneficent  figure  of  J.  Rufus  Walling- 
ford. 

On  Sunday  J.  Rufus,  in  solemn  black  frock-coat 
and  shiny  top  hat,  attended  church.  From  church  he 


272  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

went  to  the  Bubble  home,  by  the  warm  invitation 
of  Jonas,  for  chicken  dinner,  and  in  the  afternoon 
he  took  Miss  Fannie  driving  behind  the  handsome 
bays.  While  she  was  making  ready,  however,  he 
took  Jonas  Bubble  in  the  rig  and  drove  down  to  the 
swamp,  where  they  paused  in  solemn,  sober  contem- 
plation of  that  vast  and  beautiful  expanse  of  Etrus- 
can black  mud.  Mr.  Bubble  had,  of  course,  seen  the 
glowing  letter  of  Vittoreo  Matteo  shortly  after  its 
arrival,  and  he  was  not  unprepared  for  J.  Rufus' 
urgency. 

"To-morrow,"  said  J.  Rufus,  as  he  swept  his  hand 
out  over  the  swamp  with  pride  of  possession,  "to- 
morrow I  shall  exercise  my  option;  to-morrow  I 
shall  begin  drainage  operations;  to-morrow  I  shall 
order  plans  prepared  for  the  first  wing  of  the  Blake- 
ville  Etruscan  Studios,"  and  he  pointed  out  a  spot 
facing  the  Bubble  mansion.  "Only  one  thing  worries 
me.  In  view  of  the  fact  that  we  shall  have  a  large 
pay-roll  and  handle  considerable  of  ready  cash,  I 
regret  that  Blakeville  has  no  bank.  Moreover,  it 
grates  upon  me  that  the  thriving  little  city  of  my 
adoption  must  depend  on  a  smaller  town  for  all  its 
banking  facilities.  Why  don't  you  start  a  bank,  Mr. 
Bubble,  and  become  its  president?  If  you  will  start 


ETRUSCAN   BLACK   MUD          273 

a  subscription  list  to-morrow  I'll  take  five  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  stock  myself." 

To  become  the  president  of  a  bank!  That  was  an 
idea  which  had  not  previously  presented  itself  to  the 
pompous  Mr.  Bubble,  but  now  that  it  had  arrived  it 
made  his  waistband  uncomfortable.  Well,  the  town 
needed  a  bank,  and  a  bank  was  always  profitable. 
His  plain  civic  duty  lay  before  him.  President  Bub- 
ble, of  the  Blakeville  Bank;  or,  much  better  still,  the 
Bubble  Bank !  Why  not  ?  He  was  already  the  most 
important  man  in  the  community,  and  his  name  car- 
ried the  most  weight.  President  Bubble,  of  the  Bub- 
ble Bank !  By  George !  It  was  a  good  idea ! 

Meanwhile,  a  clean,  clear  deed  and  title  to  forty 
acres  of  Jonas  Bubble's  black  mud  was  recorded  in 
the  Blake  County  court-house,  and  J.  Rufus  went  to 
the  city,  returning  with  a  discreet  engineer,  who  sur- 
veyed and  prodded  and  waded,  and  finally  installed 
filtration  boxes  and  a  pumping  engine ;  and  all  Blake- 
ville came  down  to  watch  in  solemn  silence  the 
monotonous  jerks  of  the  piston  which  lifted  water 
from  the  swamp  faster  than  it  flowed  in.  For  hours 
they  stood,  first  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other, 
watching  the  whir  of  the  shining  fly-wheel,  the  ex- 
haust of  the  steam,  the  smoke  of  the  stack,  and  the 


274  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

gushing  of  the  black  water  through  the  big  rubber 
nozzle  to  the  stream  which  had  heretofore  merely 
trickled  beneath  the  rickety  wooden  road  culvert. 
It  watched  in  awed  silence  the  slow  recession  of 
waters,  the  appearance  of  unexpected  little  lakes 
and  islands  and  slimy  streams  in  the  shining  black 
bottom  of  that  swamp. 

On  the  very  day,  too,  that  this  work  was  installed, 
there  came  from  Vittoreo  Matteo,  in  Boston,  the 
Etruscan  vase.  Wallingford,  opening  it  in  the  pri- 
vacy of  his  own  room,  was  intensely  relieved  to  find 
that  Blackie  had  bought  one  of  entirely  different 
shape  and  style  of  decoration  from  those  he  had  al- 
ready shown,  and  he  sent  it  immediately  to  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Hispin,  where  that  week's  meeting  of 
the  Women's  Culture  Club  was  being  held.  He  fol- 
lowed it  with  his  own  impressive  self  to  show  them 
the  difference  between  the  high-grade  Etruscan  ware 
and  the  inferior  ware  he  had  previously  exhibited. 
He  placed  the  two  pieces  side  by  side  for  compari- 
son. Though  they  had  been  made  by  the  same  fac- 
tory, the  ladies  of  the  Women's  Culture  Club  one 
and  all  could  see  the  enormous  difference  in  the  ex- 
quisiteness  of  the  under-glaze.  The  Etruscan  ware 
was  infinitely  superior,  and  just  think!  this  beautiful 


ETRUSCAN    BLACK   MUD  275 

vase  was  made  from  Blakeville's  own  superior  ar- 
ticle of  black  mud ! 

Up  in  Hen  Moozer's  General  Merchandise  Em- 
porium and  Post-Office  Wallingford  arranged  for  a 
show  window,  and  from  behind  its  dusty  panes  he 
had  the  eternal  pyramid  of  fly-specked  canned  goods 
removed.  In  its  place  he  constructed  a  semi-circular 
amphitheater  of  pale  blue  velvet,  bought  from 
Moozer's  own  stock,  and  in  its  center  he  placed  the 
priceless  bit  of  Etruscan  ware,  the  first  splendid  art 
object  from  the  to-be-famous  Blakeville  Etruscan 
studios ! 

In  the  meantime,  Jonas  Bubble  had  found  willing 
subscribers  to  the  stock  of  the  Bubble  Bank,  and  al- 
ready was  installing  an  impregnable  vault  in  his  va- 
cant brick  building  at  the  intersection  of  Maple 
Avenue  and  Blake  Street.  By  this  time  every  citizen 
had  a  new  impulse  of  civic  pride,  and  vast  commer- 
cial expansion  was  planned  by  every  business  man  in 
Blakeville.  Even  the  women  felt  the  contagion,  and 
it  was  one  of  the  sorrows  of  Miss  Forsythe's  soul 
that  her  vacation  arrangements  had  already  been 
made  for  the  summer,  and  that  she  should  be  com- 
pelled to  go  away  even  for  a  short  time,  leaving  all 
this  inspiriting  progress  behind  her.  It  would  be 


276  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

just  like  Mrs.  Moozer  to  take  advantage  of  the  situa- 
tion! Mrs.  Moozer  was  vice-president  of  the  Wom- 
en's Culture  Club. 

The  Bubble  County  Bank  collected  its  funds,  took 
possession  of  its  new  quarters  and  made  ready  for 
business.  Jonas  Bubble,  changing  his  attire  to  a 
frock  suit  for  good  and  all,  became  its  president.  J. 
Rufus  had  also  been  offered  an  office  in  the  bank, 
but  he  declined.  A  directorship  had  been  urged  upon 
him,  but  he  steadfastly  refused,  with  the  same  firm- 
ness that  he  had  denied  to  Jonas  Bubble  a  share  in 
his  pottery  or  even  his  drainage  project.  No,  with  his 
five  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock  he  felt  that 
he  was  taking  as  great  a  share  as  a  stranger  might, 
with  modesty,  appropriate  to  himself  in  their  mu- 
nicipal advancement.  Let  the  honors  go  to  those 
who  had  grown  up  with  the  city,  and  who  had  fur- 
nished the  substantial  nucleus  upon  which  their  pros- 
perity and  advancement  might  be  based. 

He  intended,  however,  to  make  free  use  of  the 
new  banking  facilities,  and  by  way  of  showing  the 
earnestness  of  that  intention  he  drew  from  his  New 
York  bank  half  of  the  sum  he  had  cleared  on  his 
big  horse-racing  "frame  up,"  and  deposited  these 
funds  in  the  Bubble  Bank.  True  enough,  three  days 


ETRUSCAN    BLACK    MUD  277 

after,  he  withdrew  nearly  the  entire  amount  by 
draft  in  favor  of  one  Horace  G.  Daw,  of  Boston, 
but  a  week  later  he  deposited  a  similar  amount  from 
his  New  York  bank,  then  increased  that  with  the 
amount  previously  withdrawn  in  favor  of  Horace 
G.  Daw.  A  few  days  later  he  withdrew  the  entire 
account,  replaced  three-fourths  of  it  and  drew  out 
one-half  of  that,  and  it  began  to  be  talked  about  all 
over  the  town  that  Wallingford's  enterprises  were 
by  no  means  confined  to  his  Blakeville  investments. 
He  was  a  man  of  large  financial  affairs,  which  re- 
quired the  frequent  transfer  of  immense  sums  of 
money.  To  keep  up  this  rapid  rotation  of  funds, 
Wallingford  even  borrowed  money  which  Blackie 
Daw  had  obtained  in  the  same  horse-racing  enter- 
prise. Sometimes  he  had  seventy-five  thousand  dol- 
lars in  the  Bubble  Bank,  and  sometimes  his  balance 
was  less  than  a  thousand. 

In  the  meantime,  J.  Rufus  allowed  no  opportuni- 
ties for  his  reputation  to  become  stale.  In  the  Atlas 
Hotel  he  built  a  model  bath-room  which  was  to  re- 
vert to  Jim  Ranger,  without  money  and  without 
price,  when  Wallingford  should  leave,  and  over  his 
bath-tub  he  installed  an  instantaneous  heater  which 
was  the  pride  and  delight  of  the  village.  It  cost  him 


278  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

a  pretty  penny,  but  he  got  tenfold  advertising  from 
it.  By  the  time  this  sensation  had  begun  to  die  he 
was  able  to  display  drawings  of  the  quaint  and  pretty 
vine-clad  Etruscan  studio,  and  to  start  men  to  dig- 
ging trenches  for  the  foundations ! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  GREAT  VITTOREO   MATTED,   MASTER  OF  BLACK 
MUD,  ARRIVES  !    BRAVA  !    HE  DEPARTS  !    BRAVA  ! 

ONE  day  a  tall,  slender,  black-haired,  black- 
mustached  and  black-eyed  young  man,  in  a 
severely  ministerial  black  frock  suit,  dropped  off  the 
train  and  inquired  in  an  undoubted  foreign  accent 
for  the  Atlas  Hotel.  Even  the  station  loungers  rec- 
ognized him  at  once  as  the  great  and  long-expected 
artist,  Signer  Vittoreo  Matteo,  who,  save  in  the  one 
respect  of  short  hair,  was  thoroughly  satisfying  to 
the  eye  and  imagination.  Even  before  the  spread- 
ing of  his  name  upon  the  register  of  the  Atlas  Hotel, 
all  Blakeville  knew  that  he  had  arrived. 

In  the  hotel  office  he  met  J.  Rufus.  Instantly  he 
shrieked  for  joy,  embraced  Wallingford,  kissed  that 
discomfited  gentleman  upon  both  cheeks  and  fell 
upon  his  neck,  jabbering  in  most  broken  English  his 
joy  at  meeting  his  dear,  dear  friend  once  more.  In 
the  privacy  of  Wallingford's  own  room,  Walling- 
279 


28o  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

ford's  dear  Italian  friend  threw  himself  upon  the 
bed  and  kicked  up  his  heels  like  a  boy,  stuffing  the 
corner  of  a  pillow  in  his  mouth  to  suppress  his 
shrieks  of  laughter. 

"Ain't  I  the  regular  buya-da-banan  Dago  for 
fair?"  he  demanded,  without  a  trace  of  his  choice 
Italian  accent. 

"Blackie,"  rejoiced  Wallingford,  wiping  his  eyes, 
"I  never  met  your  parents,  but  I've  a  bet  down  that 
they  came  from  Naples  as  ballast  in  a  cattle  steamer. 
But  I'm  afraid  you'll  strain  yourself  on  this.  Don't 
make  it  too  strong." 

"I'll  make  Salvini's  acting  as  tame  as  a  jointed 
crockery  doll,"  asserted  Blackie.  "This  deal  is  nuts 
and  raisins  to  me;  and  say,  J.  Rufus,  your  sending 
for  me  was  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  Just  got  a  tip 
from  a  post-office  friend  that  the  federal  officers 
were  going  to  investigate  my  plant,  so  I'm  glad  to 
have  a  vacation.  What's  this  new  stunt  of  yours, 
anyhow  ?" 

"It's  a  cinch,"  declared  Wallingford,  "but  I  don't 
want  to  scramble  your  mind  with  anything  but  the 
story  of  your  own  life." 

To  his  own  romantic,  personal  history,  as  Vittoreo 
Matteo,  and  to  the  interesting  fabrications  about  the 


THE  GREAT  VITTOREO  MATTEO    281 

world-famous  Etruscan  pottery,  in  the  village  of 
Etrusca,  near  Milan,  Italy,  Blackie  listened  most  at- 
tentively. 

"All  right,"  said  he  at  the  finish ;  "I  get  you.  Now 
lead  me  forth  to  the  merry,  merry  villagers." 

Behind  the  spanking  bays  which  had  made  Fannie 
Bubble  the  envied  of  every  girl  in  Blakeville,  Wall- 
ingford  drove  Blackie  forth.  Already  many  of  the 
faithful  had  gathered  at  the  site  of  the  Blakeville 
Etruscan  Studios  in  anticipation  of  the  great  Mat- 
teo's  coming,  and  when  the  tall,  black-eyed  Italian 
jumped  out  of  the  buggy  they  fairly  quivered  with 
gratified  curiosity.  How  well  he  looked  the  part! 
If  only  he  had  had  long  hair !  The  eyes  of  the  world- 
famous  Italian  ceramic  expert,  however,  were  not 
for  the  assembled  denizens  of  Blakeville;  they  were 
only  for  that  long  and  eagerly  desired  deposit  of 
Etruscan  soil.  He  leaped  from  the  buggy ;  he  dashed 
through  the  gap  in  the  fence ;  he  rushed  to  the  side 
of  that  black  swamp,  the  edges  of  which  had  evapo- 
rated now  until  they  were  but  a  sticky  mass,  and 
said: 

"Oh,  da  g-r-r-a-a-n-da  mod !" 

Forthwith,  disregarding  his  cuffs,  disregarding 
his  rings,  disregarding  everything,  he  plunged  both 


282  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

his  white  hands  into  that  sticky  mass  and  brought 
them  up  dripping- full  of  that  precious  material — the 
genuine,  no,  better  than  genuine,  Etruscan  black 
mud! 

A  cheer  broke  out  from  assembled  Blakeville. 
This  surely  was  artistic  frenzy !  This  surely  was  the 
emotional  temperament!  This  surely  was  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  great  Italian  black-pottery  expert 
should  act  in  the  first  sight  of  his  beloved  black 
mud! 

"Da  gr-r-r-r-r-a-a-n-da  mod!"  he  repeated  over 
and  over,  and  drew  it  close  to  his  face  that  he  might 
inspect  it  with  a  near  and  loving  eye. 

One  might  almost  have  thought  that  he  was  about 
to  kiss  it,  to  bury  his  nose  in  it ;  one  almost  expected 
him  to  jump  into  that  pond  and  wallow  in  it,  his 
joy  at  seeing  it  was  so  complete. 

It  was  J.  Rufus  Wallingford  himself  who,  catch- 
ing the  contagion  of  this  superb  fervor,  ran  to  the 
pail  of  drinking-water  kept  for  the  foundation  work- 
men, and  brought  it  to  the  great  artist.  J.  Rufus 
himself  poured  water  upon  the  great  artist's  hands 
until  those  hands  were  free  of  their  Etruscan  coat- 
ing, and  with  his  own  immaculate  handkerchief  he 
dried  those  deft  and  skilful  fingers,  while  the  great 


THE  GREAT  VITTOREO  MATTEO    283 

Italian  potter  looked  up  into  the  face  of  his  business 
manager  with  almost  tears  in  his  eyes ! 

It  was  a  wonderful  scene,  one  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten, and  in  the  enthusiasm  of  that  psychological  mo- 
ment Mrs.  Moozer  rushed  forward.  Mrs.  Moozer, 
acting  president  of  the  Women's  Culture  Club  in 
the  absence  of  Miss  Forsythe,  saw  here  a  glorious 
opportunity;  here  was  where  she  could  "put  one 
over"  upon  that  all-absorptive  young  lady. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Wallingford,  you  must  introduce 
me  at  once !"  she  exclaimed.  "I  can  not  any  longer 
restrain  my  impatience." 

His  own  voice  quavering  emotions  of  several 
sorts,  Wallingford  introduced  them,  and  Mrs. 
Moozer  shook  ecstatically  the  hand  which  had  just 
caressed  the  dear  swamp. 

"And  so  this  is  the  great  Matteo !"  she  exclaimed. 
"Signer,  as  acting  president  of  the  Women's  Culture 
Club,  I  claim  you  for  an  address  upon  your  sublime 
art  next  Saturday  afternoon.  Let  business  claim  you 
afterward." 

"I  hav'a — not  da  gooda  Englis,"  said  Blackie 
Daw,  with  an  indescribable  gesture  of  the  shoulders 
and  right  arm,  "but  whata  leetle  I  cana  say,  I  s'alla 
be  amost  aglad  to  tella  da  ladees." 


284  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Never  did  man  enjoy  himself  more  than  did 
Blackie  Daw.  Blakeville  went  wild  over  this  gifted, 
warmly  temperamental  foreigner.  They  dined  him 
and  they  listened  to  his  soul-satisfying,  broken  Eng- 
lish with  vast  respect,  even  with  veneration;  the 
women  because  he  was  an  artist,  and  the  men  be- 
cause he  represented  vast  money-earning  capacity. 
Even  the  far-away  president  of  the  Women's  Cul- 
ture Club  heard  of  his  advent  from  a  faithful  ad- 
herent, an  anti-Moozer  and  pro-Forsythe  member, 
and  on  Saturday  morning  J.  Rufus  Wallingford  re- 
ceived a  gushing  letter  from  that  enterprising  lady. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  WALLINGFORD  : 

I  have  been  informed  that  the  great  event  has  hap- 
pened, and  that  the  superb  artist  has  at  last  arrived 
in  Blakeville;  moreover,  that  he  is  to  favor  the 
Women's  Culture  Club,  of  which  I  have  the  honor  to 
be  president,  with  a  talk  upon  his  delightful  art.  I 
simply  can  not  resist  presiding  at  that  meeting,  and  I 
hope  it  is  not  uncharitable  toward  Mrs.  Moozer  that 
I  feel  it  my  duty  to  do  so ;  consequently  I  shall  arrive 
in  time,  I  trust,  to  introduce  him ;  moreover,  to  talk 
with  him  in  his  own,  limpid,  liquid  language.  I  have 
been,  for  the  past  month,  taking  phonograph  lessons 
in  Italian  for  this  moment,  and  I  trust  that  it  will  be 
a  pleasant  surprise  to  him  to  be  addressed  in  his  na- 
tive tongue. 


THE  GREAT  VITTOREO  MATTEO    285 

Wallingford  rushed  up-stairs  to  where  Blackie 
was  leisurely  getting  ready  for  breakfast. 

"Old  scout,"  he  gasped,  "your  poor  old  mother  in 
Italy  is  at  the  point  of  death,  so  be  grief-stricken 
and  hustle!  Get  ready  for  the  next  train  out  of 
town,  you  hear?  Look  at  this!"  and  he  thrust  in 
front  of  Blackie's  eyes  the  fatal  letter. 

Blackie  looked  at  it  and  comprehended  its  sig- 
nificance. 

"What  time  does  the  first  train  leave?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,  but  whatever  time  it  is  I'll  get  you 
down  to  it,"  said  Wallingford.  "This  is  warning 
enough  for  me.  It's  time  to  close  up  and  take  my 
profits." 

The  next  east-bound  train  found  Blackie  Daw 
and  Wallingford  at  the  station,  and  just  as  it  si 
down,  Blackie,  with  Wallingford  helping  him  carry 
his  grips,  was  at  the  steps  of  the  parlor  car. 
stood  aside  for  the  stream  of  descending  passengers 
to  step  down,  and  had  turned  to  address  some  re- 
mark to  Wallingford,  when  he  saw  that  gentleman's 
face  blanch  and  his  jaw  drop.    A  second  later  a 
gauzy  female  had  descended  from  the  car  and  seized 
upon  J.   Rufus.    Even  as  she  turned  upon  him, 


286  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

Blackie  felt  the  sinking  certainty  that  this  was  Miss 
Forsythe. 

"And  this  is  Signer  Matteo,  I  am  sure,"  she 
gushed.  "You're  not  going  away!" 

"Yes,"  interposed  Wallingford,  "his  grandmother 
• — I  mean  his  mother — in  Genoa  is  at  the  point  of 
death,  and  he  must  make  a  hasty  trip.  He  will  re- 
turn again  in  a  month." 

"Oh,  it  is  too  bad,  too  bad  indeed !"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  sympathize  with  you,  so  deeply,  Signer  Matteo. 
Signor,  ..." 

The  dreaded  moment  had  come,  and  Wallingford 
braced  himself  as  Miss  Forsythe,  cocking  her  head 
upon  one  side  archly,  like  a  dear  little  bird,  gurgled 
out  one  of  her  very  choicest  bits  of  phonograph 
Italian ! 

Blackie  Daw  never  batted  an  eyelash.  He  beamed 
upon  Miss  Forsythe,  he  displayed  his  dazzling  white 
teeth  in  a  smile  of  intense  gratification,  he  grasped 
Miss  Forsythe's  two  hands  in  the  fervor  of  his  en- 
thusiasm— and,  with  every  appearance  of  lively  in- 
telligence beaming  from  his  eyes,  he  fired  at  Miss 
Forsythe  a  tumultuous  stream  of  utterly  unintelli- 
gible gibberish! 

As  his  flow  continued,  to  the  rhythm  of  an  oc- 


THE  GREAT  VITTOREO  MATTEO    287 

casional,  warm,  double  handshake,  Miss  Forsythe's 
face  turned  pink  and  then  red,  and  when  at  last,  upon 
the  conductor's  signal,  Blackie  hastily  tore  himself 
away  and  clambered  on  board,  waving  his  hand  to 
the  last  and  erupting  strange  syllables  which  had  no 
kith  or  kin,  Miss  Forsythe  turned  to  Wallingford, 
nearly  crying. 

"It  is  humiliating;  it  is  so  humiliating,"  she  ad- 
mitted, trapped  into  confession  by  the  suddenness 
of  it  all ;  "but,  after  all  my  weeks  of  preparation,  I 
wasn't  able  to  understand  one  word  of  that  beauti- 
ful, limpid  Italian !" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  WHICH  J.   RUFUS  GIVES   HIMSELF  THE  SURPRISE 
OF  HIS  LIFE 

WALLINGFORD  had  kept  his  finger  care- 
fully upon  the  pulse  of  the  Bubble  Bank 
by  apparently  inconsequential  conversations  with 
President  Bubble,  and  he  knew  its  deposits  and  its 
surplus  almost  to  the  dollar.  Twice  now  he  had 
checked  out  his  entire  account  and  borrowed  nearly 
the  face  of  his  bank  stock,  on  short  time,  against  his 
mere  note  of  hand,  replacing  the  amounts  quickly 
and  at  the  same  time  depositing  large  sums,  which 
he  almost  immediately  checked  out  again. 

On  the  Saturday  following  Blackie  Daw's  de- 
parture all  points  had  been  brought  together:  the 
drainage  operation  had  been  completed;  walls  had 
been  built  about  the  three  springs  which  supplied  the 
swamp ;  the  foundation  of  the  studio  had  been  com- 
pleted, and  all  his  workmen  paid  off  and  discharged ; 
and  the  surplus  of  the  Bubble  Bank  had  reached  ap- 
proximately its  high-water  mark. 
288 


THE    SURPRISE    OF    HIS    LIFE      289 

On  Sunday  Wallingford,  taking  dinner  with  the 
^Bubbles,  unrolled  a  set  of  drawings,  showing  a  beau- 
tiful Colonial  residence  which  he  proposed  to  build 
on  vacant  property  he  had  that  day  bought,  just  east 
of  Jonas  Bubble's  home. 

"Good !"  approved  Jonas  with  a  clumsily  banter- 
ing glance  at  his  daughter,  who  colored  deliciously. 
"Going  to  get  married  and  settle  down?" 

"You  never  can  tell,"  laughed  Wallingford. 
"Whether  I  do  or  not,  however,  the  building  of  one 
or  several  houses  like  this  would  be  a  good  invest- 
ment, for  the  highly  paid  decorators  and  modelers 
which  the  pottery  will  employ  will  pay  good  rents." 

Jonas  nodded  gravely. 

"How  easily  success  comes  to  men  of  enterprise 
and  far-sightedness,"  he  declared  with  hearty  ap- 
probation, in  which  there  was  mixed  a  large  amount 
of  self-complacency;  for  in  thus  complimenting 
Wallingford  he  could  not  but  compliment  himself. 

On  Monday  Wallingford  walked  into  the  Bubble 
Bank  quite  confidently. 

"Bubble,  how  much  is  my  balance  ?"  he  asked,  as 
he  had  done  several  times  before. 

Mr.  Bubble,  smiling,  turned  to  his  books. 


290  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Three  thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty-two  dol- 
lars and  fifty-eight  cents,"  said  he. 

"Why,  I'm  a  pauper!"  protested  Wallingford.  "I 
never  could  keep  track  of  my  bank  balance.  Well, 
that  isn't  enough.  I'll  have  to  borrow  some." 

"I  guess  we  can  arrange  that,"  said  Jonas  with 
friendly,  one  might  almost  say  paternal,  encourage- 
ment. "How  much  do  you  want?" 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  have  about  forty-five  thousand 
dollars,  all  told,"  replied  Wallingford  in  an  offhand 
manner. 

He  had  come  behind  the  railing,  as  he  always  did. 
He  was  leaning  at  the  end  of  Mr.  Bubble's  desk,  his 
hands  crossed  before  him.  From  his  finger  sparkled 
a  big  three-carat  diamond ;  from  his  red-brown  cra- 
vat— price  three-fifty — sparkled  another  brilliant 
white  stone  fully  as  large;  an  immaculate  white 
waistcoat  was  upon  his  broad  chest ;  from  his  pocket 
depended  a  richly  jeweled  watch-fob.  For  just  an 
instant  Jonas  Bubble  was  staggered,  and  then  the  re- 
cently imbibed  idea  of  large  operations  quickly  re- 
asserted itself.  Why,  here  before  him  stood  a 
commercial  Napoleon.  Only  a  week  or  so  before 
Wallingford's  bank  balance  had  been  sixty  thousand 
dollars;  at  other  times  it  had  been  even  more,  and 


THE    SURPRISE    OF    HIS    LIFE      291 

there  had  been  many  intervals  between  when  his 
balance  had  been  less  than  it  was  now.  Here  was  a 
man  to  whom  forty-five  thousand  dollars  meant  a 
mere  temporary  convenience  in  conducting  opera- 
tions of  incalculable  size.  Here  was  a  man  who  had 
already  done  more  to  advance  the  prosperity  of 
Blakeville  than  any  one  other — excepting,  of  course, 
himself — in  its  history.  Here  was  a  man  predes- 
tined by  fate  to  enormous  wealth,  and,  moreover, 
one  who  might  be  linked  to  Mr.  Bubble,  he  hoped 
and  believed,  by  ties  even  stronger  than  mere  busi- 
ness associations. 

"Pretty  good  sum,  Wallingford,"  said  he.  "We 
have  the  money,  though,  and  I  don't  see  why  we 
shouldn't  arrange  it.  Thirty-day  note,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Oh,  anything  you  like,"  said  Wallingford  care- 
lessly. "Fifteen  days  will  do  just  as  well,  but  I  sup- 
pose you'd  rather  have  the  interest  for  thirty,"  and 
he  laughed  pleasantly. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Jonas  replied,  echoing  the  laugh. 
"You're  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  though,  Walling- 
ford. A  month  from  now  we  wouldn't  have  so 
much.  I'm  making  arrangements  not  to  have  idle 
capital  on  hand." 

"Idle  money  always  yells  at  me  to  put  it  back  into 


292  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

circulation,"  said  Wallingford,  looking  about  the 
desk.  "Where  are  your  note  blanks  ?" 

"Er — right  here,"  replied  Mr.  Bubble,  drawing 
the  pad  from  a  drawer.  "By  the  way,  Wallingford, 
of  course  we'll  have  to  arrange  the  little  matter  of 
securities,  and  perhaps  I'd  better  see  the  directors 
about  a  loan  of  this  size." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  agreed  Wallingford.  "As  for  se- 
curity, I'll  just  turn  over  to  you  my  bank  stock  and 
a  holding  on  the  Etruscan  property." 

For  one  fleeting  instant  it  flashed  across  Mr.  Bub- 
ble's mind  that  he  had  sold  this  very  property  to 
Wallingford  for  the  sum  of  one  thousand  dollars; 
but  a  small  patch  of  stony  ground  which  had  been 
worth  absolutely  nothing  before  the  finding  of  gold 
in  it  had  been  known  to  become  worth  a  million  in 
a  day,  as  Wallingford  had  once  observed  when  look- 
ing across  the  great  swamp,  and  now  the  mine  he 
had  sold  to  Wallingford  for  a  song  was  worth  al- 
most any  sum  that  might  be  named.  Hen  Moozer, 
when  consulted,  was  of  that  opinion;  Jim  Ranger 
was  of  that  opinion ;  Bud  Hegler  was  of  that  opin- 
ion; the  other  directors  were  of  that  opinion;  every 
one  in  Blakeville  was  of  that  opinion;  so  Walling- 
ford got  his  forty-five  thousand  dollars,  and  the 


THE   SURPRISE   OF   HIS   LIFE      293 

Bubble  Bank  held  in  return  a  mortgage  on  Walling- 
ford's  bank  stock,  and  on  forty  acres  of  genuine 
Etruscan  black  mud. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Bubble,"  said  Wallingford, 
tucking  the  bills  of  exchange  into  his  pocket,  "I'm 
going  to  take  a  little  run  into  New  York  to-day. 
Would  you  mind  putting  the  plans  for  my  new  house 
into  the  hands  of  the  two  contractors  here  for  them 
to  figure  on  ?" 

"With  pleasure.  Hope  you  have  a  good  trip,  my 
boy." 

Well,  it  was  all  over,  but  he  was  not  quite  so  well 
satisfied  as  he  had  been  over  the  consummation  of 
certain  other  dubious  deals.  Heretofore  he  had 
hugely  enjoyed  the  matching  of  his  sharp  wits 
against  duller  ones,  had  been  contemptuous  of  the 
people  he  out-manoeuvered,  had  chuckled  in  huge 
content  over  his  triumphs;  but  in  this  case  there 
was  an  obstacle  to  his  perfect  enjoyment,  and  that 
obstacle  was  Fannie  Bubble.  He  was  rather  impa- 
tient about  it. 

He  started  early  for  the  train,  instructing  Bob 
Ranger  to  be  there  to  drive  back  the  bays,  and  drove 
around  by  way  of  Jonas  Bubble's  house.  As  he  was 


294  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

about  to  hitch  his  horses  the  door  opened,  and  Fan- 
nie, dressed  for  the  afternoon,  but  hatless,  came  fly- 
ing out,  her  head  bent  and  her  hands  back  over  it. 
She  was  crying,  and  was  closely  pursued  by  Mrs. 
Bubble,  who  brandished  a  feather  duster,  held  by  the 
feather  end.  Wallingford  ran  to  open  the  gate  as 
Fannie  approached  it,  closing  it  and  latching  it  in 
time  to  stop  her  stepmother. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"She's  a  lazy,  good-for-nothing,  frivolous  huz- 
zy!" declared  Mrs.  Bubble  in  hot  wrath. 

"I've  been  looking  for  just  that  kind,"  asserted 
Wallingford.  "She'll  do  for  me.  Fannie,  get  into 
the  buggy.  I  came  down  to  take  you  for  a  ride  to 
the  depot." 

"If  she  goes  away  from  this  house  she  don't 
come  back  till  she  gets  down  on  her  knees  and  begs 
my  forgiveness!"  shrieked  the  woman. 

"If  she  does  that  I'll  have  her  sent  to  a  bugito- 
rium,"  declared  Wallingford.  "She  don't  need  to 
come  back  here.  I'll  take  care  of  her  myself. 
You'll  go  with  me,  won't  you,  Fannie ?"% 

"Anywhere,"  she  said  brokenly. 

"Then  come  on."  . 

Turning,  he  helped  her  into  the  buggy  and  they 


THE    SURPRISE   OF   HIS   LIFE      295 

drove  away,  followed  by  the  invectives  of  Mrs. 
Bubble.  The  girl  was  in  a  tumult  of  emotion,  her 
whole  little  world  clattering  down  about  her  ears. 
Bit  by  bit  her  story  came  out.  It  was  sordid  enough 
and  trivial  enough,  but  to  her  it  was  very  real.  That 
afternoon  she  had  planned  to  go  to  the  country  for 
ferns  with  a  few  girls,  and  they  were  to  meet  at  the 
house  of  one  of  her  friends  at  one  o'clock.  Her 
stepmother  had  known  about  it  three  days  in  ad- 
vance, and  had  given  her  consent.  When  the  time 
came,  however,  she  had  suddenly  insisted  that  Fan- 
nie stop  to  wash  the  dishes,  which  would  have 
made  her  a  half -hour  late.  There  followed  pro- 
test, argument,  flat  order  and  as  flat  refusal — 
then  the  handle  of  the  feather  duster.  It  was  not  an 
unusual  occurrence  for  her  stepmother  to  slap  her, 
Fannie  admitted  in  her  bitterness.  Her  father, 
pompous  enough  outside,  was  as  wax  in  the  hands 
of  his  termagant  second  wife,  and,  though  his  sym- 
pathies were  secretly  with  the  girl,  he  never  dared 
protect  her. 

They  had  driven  straight  out  the  west  road  in  the 
excitement,  but  Wallingford,  remembering  in  time 
his  train  schedule,  made  the  straightest  detour  pos- 
sible to  the  depot.  He  had  barely  time  to  buy  his 


296  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

tickets  when  the  train  came  in,  and  he  hurried  Fan- 
nie into  the  parlor  car,  her  head  still  in  a  whirl  and 
her  confusion  heightened  by  the  sudden  apprecia- 
tion of  the  fact  that  she  had  no  hat.  The  stop  at 
Blakeville  was  but  a  brief  one,  and  as  the  train 
moved  away  Fannie  looked  out  of  the  window  and 
saw  upon  the  platform  of  the  little  depot,  as  if  these 
people  were  a  part  of  another  world  entirely,  the 
station  agent,  the  old  driver  of  the  dilapidated  'bus, 
Bob  Ranger  and  others  equally  a  part  of  her  past 
life,  all  looking  at  her  in  open-mouthed  astonish- 
ment. Turning,  as  the  last  familiar  outpost  of  the 
town  slipped  by,  she  timidly  reached  out  her  hand 
and  laid  it  in  that  of  Wallingford. 

The  touch  of  that  warm  hand  laid  on  his  electri- 
fied Wallingford.  Many  women  had  loved  him,  or 
thought  they  did,  and  he  had  held  them  in  more  or 
less  contempt  for  it.  He  had  regarded  them  as  an 
amusement,  as  toys  to  be  picked  up  and  discarded 
at  will ;  but  this,  somehow,  was  different.  A  sudden 
and  startling  resolve  came  to  him,  an  idea  so  novel 
that  he  smiled  over  it  musingly  for  some  little  time 
before  he  mentioned  it. 

"By  George !"  he  exclaimed  by  and  by ;  "I'm  go- 
ing to  marry  you!" 


THE    SURPRISE   OF    HIS    LIFE      297 

"Indeed!"  she  exclaimed  in  mock  surprise,  and 
laughed  happily.  "The  way  you  said  it  sounded  so 
funny." 

She  was  perfectly  content. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

WALLINGFORD   GIVES    HIMSELF  STILL  ANOTHER 
STUPENDOUS  SURPRISE 

MRS.  WALLINGFORD,  gowned  and  hatted 
and  jeweled  as  Fannie  Bubble  had  never 
been,  and  had  never  expected  to  be,  tried  the  luxuri- 
ous life  that  J.  Rufus  affected  and  found  that  she 
liked  it.  She  was  happy  from  day's  end  to  day's 
end.  Her  husband  was  the  most  wonderful  man  in 
the  world,  flawless,  perfect.  Immediately  upon  their 
arrival  in  the  city  he  had  driven  in  hot  haste  for  a 
license,  and  they  were  married  before  they  left  the 
court-house.  Then  he  had  wired  the  news  to  Jonas 
Bubble. 

"We  start  on  our  honeymoon  at  once,"  he  had 
added,  and  named  their  hotel. 

By  the  time  they  had  been  shown  to  the  expensive 

suite  which  Wallingford  had  engaged,  a  reply  of 

earnest  congratulation  had  come  back  from  Jonas 

Bubble.     The  next  day  had  begun  the  delights  of 

298 


STILL    ANOTHER    SURPRISE       299 

shopping,  of  automobile  rides,  of  the  races,  the  roof 
gardens,  the  endless  round  of  cafes.  This  world 
was  so  different,  so  much  brighter  and  better,  so 
much  more  pleasant  in  every  way  than  the  world 
of  Blake ville,  that  she  never  cared  to  go  back  there 
— she  was  ashamed  to  confess  it  to  herself — even  to 
see  her  father! 

Blackie  Daw,  still  keeping  out  of  the  way  of  fed- 
eral officers  who  knew  exactly  where  to  find  him, 
met  J.  Rufus  on  the  street  a  week  after  his  arrival, 
and,  learning  from  him  of  his  marriage  to  Fannie, 
came  around  to  Wallingford's  hotel  to  "look  her 
over."  Fannie  marveled  at  Signer  Matteo's  rapid 
advance  in  English,  especially  his  quick  mastery  of 
the  vernacular,  but  she  found  him  very  amusing. 

"You  win,"  declared  Blackie  with  emphasis,  when 
he  and  \Vallingford  had  retired  to  a  cozy  little  cor- 
ner in  the  bar  cafe.  Fannie  had  inspired  in  him  the 
awed  respect  that  men  of  his  stamp  always  render 
to  good  women.  "You  certainly  got  the  original 
prize  package.  You  and  I  are  awful  skunks,  Jim." 

"She  makes  me  feel  that  way,  too,  now  and 
then,"  admitted  Wallingford.  "I'd  be  ashamed  of 
myself  for  marrying  her  if  I  hadn't  taken  her  from 
such  a  dog's  life." 


3oo  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"She  seems  to  enjoy  this  one,"  said  Blackie. 
"You're  spending  as  much  money  on  her  as  you 
used  to  on  Beauty  Phillips." 

"Just  about,"  agreed  Wallingford.  "However, 
papa-in-law  is  paying  for  the  honeymoon." 

"Does  he  know  it?"  asked  Blackie. 

Wallingford  chuckled. 

"Not  yet,"  he  admitted.  "I'd  like  to  see  him 
when  he  finds  it  out." 

Blackie  also  grinned. 

"That  little  Blakeville  episode  was  the  happiest 
period  of  my  life,"  he  declared.  "By  the  way,  J. 
Rufus,  what  was  your  game  down  there?  I  never 
understood." 

"As  simple  as  a  night-shirt,"  explained  Walling- 
ford. "I  merely  hunted  through  the  postal  guide 
for  the  richest  little  town  I  could  find  that  had  no 
bank.  Then  I  went  there  and  had  one  started  so  I 
could  borrow  its  money." 

Blackie  nodded  comprehendingly. 

"Then  you  bought  a  piece  of  property  and  raised 
it  to  a  fictitious  value  to  cover  the  loan,"  he  added. 
"Great  stunt ;  but  it  seems  to  me  they  can  get  you 
for  it.  If  they  catch  you  up  in  one  lie  they  can 


STILL   ANOTHER    SURPRISE       301 

prove  the  whole  thing  to  have  been  a  frame-up. 
Suppose  they  find  out  ?" 

Wallingford  swelled  up  with  righteous  indigna- 
tion. 

"Vittoreo  Matteo,"  he  charged,  "you  are  a  ras- 
cally scoundrel !  I  met  you  in  New  York  and  you 
imposed  upon  me  with  a  miserable  pack  of  lies.  I 
have  investigated  and  I  find  that  there  is  no  Etrusca, 
near  Milan,  Italy,  no  Etruscan  black  pottery,  no 
Vittoreo  Matteo.  You  induced  me  to  waste  a  lot 
of  money  in  locating  and  developing  a  black  mud- 
swamp.  When  you  had  gained  my  full  confidence 
you  came  to  me  in  Blakeville  with  a  cock-and-bull 
story  that  your  mother  was  dying  in  Genoa,  and  on 
the  strength  of  that  borrowed  a  large  sum  of  money 
from  me.  You  are  gone — I  don't  know  where.  I 
shall  have  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  this  matter  to 
Jonas  Bubble,  and  tell  him  that  if  I  can  not  pay 
that  note  when  it  falls  due  he  will  have  to  foreclose. 
You  heartless  villain !  Waiter,  ice  us  another  bottle 
of  that  ninety-three." 

When  Wallingford  returned  to  his  wife  he  found 
her  very  thoughtful. 

"When  are  we  going  to  Blakeville,  Jim?"  she 
asked. 


302  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

He  studied  her  curiously  for  a  moment.  She 
would  have  to  know  him  some  time  or  other.  He 
had  hoped  to  put  it  off  while  they  were  leading  this 
unruffled  existence,  but  now  that  the  test  had  come 
he  might  as  well  have  it  over  with. 

"I'm  not  going  back,"  he  declared.  "I'm  through 
with  Blakeville.  Aren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  pondering  it  slowly.  "I 
could  be  happy  here  always,  or,  if  not  here,  wher- 
ever you  are.  But  your  business  back  there,  Jim  ?" 

He  chuckled. 

"I  have  no  business  there,"  he  told  her.  "My 
business  is  concluded.  I  borrowed  forty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  on  that  forty  acres  of  sticky  mud,  and  I 
think  I'll  just  let  the  bank  foreclose." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  dry-eyed  and  dry- 
lipped. 

"You're  joking,"  she  protested,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  seriously  assured  her. 

They  looked  at  each  other  steadily  for  some  mo- 
ments, and  gradually  Wallingford  saw  beneath 
those  eyes  a  spirit  that  he  might  conquer,  but,  hav- 
ing conquered,  would  always  regret. 

"It's — it's  a  swindle !"  she  gasped,  as  the  true  sit- 


STILL   ANOTHER   SURPRISE       303 

uation  began  to  dawn  upon  her.  "You  don't  mean, 
Jim,  that  you  are  a  swindler!" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  call  it  that,"  he  objected,  consid- 
ering the  matter  carefully.  "It  is  only  rather  a 
shrewd  deal  in  the  game  of  business.  The  law  can't 
touch  me  for  it  unless  they  should  chase  down  Vit- 
toreo  Matteo  and  find  him  to  be  a  fraud,  and  prove 
that  I  knew  it!" 

She  was  thoughtful  a  long  time,  following  the  in- 
tricate pattern  of  the  rug  in  their  sitting-room  with 
the  toe  of  her  neatly-shod  foot.  She  was  perfectly 
calm,  and  he  drew  a  sharp  breath  of  relief.  He  had 
expected  a  scene  when  this  revelation  should  come; 
he  was  more  than  pleased  to  find  that  she  was  not 
of  the  class  which  makes  scenes.  Presently  she 
looked  up. 

"Have  you  thought  of  what  light  this  puts  me  in 
at  home?  Have  you  thought  how  I  should  be  re- 
garded in  the  only  world  I  have  ever  known  ?  Why, 
there  are  a  thousand  people  back  in  Blakeville  who 
know  me,  and  even  if  I  were  never  to  meet  one  of 
them  again —  Jim,  it  mustn't  be !  You  must  not  de- 
stroy my  self-respect  for  ever.  Have  you  spent  any 
of  that  money?" 


304  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Well,  no,"  he  reluctantly  replied.  "I  have  plenty 
of  money  besides  that." 

"Good!"  said  she  with  a  gasp  of  relief.  "Write 
father  that,  as  you  will  be  unable  to  carry  out  your 
projects,  you  are  sending  him  the  money  to  take 
up  that  note." 

Wallingford  was  silent  a  long  time.  Wonderful 
the  influence  this  girl  had  over  him.  He  was  amazed 
at  himself. 

"I  can't  remember  when  I  ever  gave  up  any 
money,"  he  finally  said,  with  an  attempt  at  light- 
ness; "but,  Fannie,  I  think  I'll  do  it  just  this  once — 
for  you — as  a  wedding  present" 

"You'll  do  it  right  away,  won't  you?" 

"Right  this  minute." 

He  walked  over  and  stooped  down  to  kiss  her. 
She  held  up  her  lips  submissively,  but  they  were 
cold,  and  there  was  no  answering  pressure  in  them. 
Silently  he  took  his  hat  and  started  down-stairs. 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  turning  at  the  door,  "I'm 
going  to  make  your  father  a  present  of  that  bay 
team." 

He  scarcely  understood  himself  as  he  dictated  to 
the  public  stenographer  a  letter  to  Jonas  Bubble,  so 
far  different  from  the  one  he  had  planned  to  write. 


STILL    ANOTHER    SURPRISE        305 

It  was  not  like  him  to  do  this  utterly  foolish  thing, 
and  yet,  somehow,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  do 
otherwise.  When  he  came  back  up-stairs  again,  the 
letter  written  and  a  check  inclosed  in  it  and  the 
whole  mailed,  he  found  her  in  the  same  chair,  but 
now  she  was  crying.  He  approached  her  hesitantly 
and  stood  looking  down  at  her  for  a  long,  long  time. 
It  was,  perhaps,  but  one  minute,  but  it  seemed  much 
longer.  Now  was  the  supreme  test,  the  moment 
that  should  influence  all  their  future  lives,  and  he 
dreaded  to  dissolve  that  uncertainty. 

He  knelt  beside  her  and  put  his  arm  about  her. 
Still  crying,  she  turned  to  him,  threw  both  arms 
around  his  neck  and  buried  her  head  on  his  shoul- 
der— and  as  she  cried  she  pressed  him  more  tightly 
to  her ! 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

CASTING  ABOUT  FOR  A  STRAIGHT  BUSINESS,  PATENT 
MEDICINE  PROVIDES  THE  ANSWER 

THAT  was  a  glorious  honeymoon !  They  trav- 
eled from  one  gay  summer  resort  to  another, 
and  when  Fannie  expressed  the  first  hint  of  fatigue, 
Wallingford,  who  had  grown  to  worship  her, 
promptly  provided  her  with  complete  and  unique 
rest,  by  taking  her  to  some  one  of  the  smaller  in- 
land cities  of  the  type  which  he  loved,  installing  her 
in  a  comfortable  hotel,  and  living,  for  a  week  or  so, 
a  quiet,  lazy  existence  consisting  largely  of  mere 
eating  and  sleeping,  and  just  enough  exercise  to 
keep  in  good  health.  In  all  this  time  there  was  not 
one  jarring  thought,  one  troubled  moment,  nor  one 
hint  of  a  shadow.  J.  Rufus  took  his  wife  into  all 
sorts  of  unique  experiences,  full  of  life  and  color 
and  novelty,  having  a  huge  pride  in  her  constant 
wonder  and  surprise. 

It  happened,  while  upon  one  of  these  resting  so- 
306 


A    STRAIGHT    BUSINESS  307 

journs,  that  they  one  night  paused  on  the  edge  of  a 
crowd  which  stood  gaping  at  a  patent  medicine  faker. 
Suddenly  recognizing  an  old  acquaintance  in  the  pic- 
turesque orator  with  the  sombrero  and  the  shoulder- 
length  gray  hair,  Wallingford  drew  closer. 

Standing  behind  the  "doctor,"  upon  the  seat  of  his 
carriage  where  the  yellow  light  of  a  gasolene  torch 
flared  full  upon  it,  was  a  gaudy,  lifesize  anatomical 
chart,  and  with  this  as  bait  for  his  moths  he  was  ex- 
tolling the  virtues  of  Quagg's  Peerless  Sciatacata. 

"Here,  my  friends,"  he  declared,  unfolding  one  of 
the  many  hinged  flaps  of  the  gory  chart,  "you  bee- 
hold  the  intimate  relation  of  the  stomach  with  all  the 
iww-ternal  organs,  and  above  all  with  the  blood, 
which,  pumped  by  the  heart  through  these  abb-sorb- 
ing  membranes,  takes  up  that  priceless  tonic,  Doctor 
Quagg's  Peerless  Sciatacata.  This,  acting  c/n-rectly 
upon  the  red  corpuscles  of  the  vital  fluid,  stimm- 
ulates  the  circulation  and  carries  its  germ-destroying 
properties  to  every  atom  of  the  human  frame,  casting 
off  iwm-purities,  clean-smg  the  syst-^m,  bringing 
££-lasticity  to  the  footsteps,  hope  to  the  heart,  the 
ruddy  glow  of  bounding  health  to  pale  cheeks,  and 
the  sparkle  of  new  life  to  tired  and  jaded  eyes !" 

Wallingford  turned  to  his  wife  with  a  chuckle, 


308  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"Just  stand  here  a  minute,  Fannie,"  said  he.  "I 
must  wade  in  and  speak  to  the  old  scout.  We  stopped 
a  week  at  the  same  hotel  over  in  New  Jersey  and  got 
as  chummy  as  two  cell-mates." 

Fannie  smiled  doubtfully  in  response,  and  watched 
her  husband  with  a  slight  trace  of  concern  as  he 
forced  his  way  through  the  crowd  and  up  to  the 
wheel  of  the  carriage. 

"How  are  you,  Doctor?"  said  he,  holding  up  his 
plump  palm.  "Where  are  you  stopping?" 

The  doctor's  wink  at  J.  Rufus  was  scarcely  per- 
ceptible to  that  large  young  gentleman  himself, 
much  less  to  the  bystanders,  as  with  professional 
gravity  he  reached  down  for  a  hearty  handshake. 

"Benson  House.  Come  around  and  see  me  to-mor- 
row morning."  Then,  with  added  gravity  and  in  a 
louder  voice:  "I  scarcely  knew  you,  friend,  you 
are  so  changed.  How  many  bottles  of  the  Sciata- 
cata  was  it  you  took?" 

"Four,"  replied  J.  Rufus  clearly,  with  not  even 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Only  four  bottles,"  declaimed  Doctor  Quagg. 
"My  friends,  this  is  one  of  my  most  marvelous 
cures.  When  I  met  this  gentleman  in  Columbus, 
Ohio,  he  was  a  living  skeleton,  having  suffered  for 


A   STRAIGHT   BUSINESS  309 

years  from  sciatic  rheumatism.  He  bought  from 
me  one  night  at  my  carriage,  just  as  he  is  standing 
now,  six  bottles  of  the  Peerless  Sciatacata.  He  took 
but  four  bottles,  and  look  at  him  to-day!" 

With  one  accord  they  looked.  There  was  some 
slight  tittering  among  them  at  first,  but  the  dignity 
and  gravity  with  which  the  towering  J.  Rufus,  hale 
and  hearty  and  in  the  pink  of  condition,  withstood 
that  inspection,  checked  all  inclination  to  levity. 
Moreover,  he  was  entirely  too  prosperous-looking 
to  be  a  "capper." 

"I  owe  you  my  life,  Doctor,"  said  Wallingford 
gratefully.  "I  never  travel  without  those  other  two 
bottles  of  the  Sciatacata,"  and  with  the  air  of  a 
debt  of  honor  paid,  he  pressed  back  through  the 
crowd  to  the  sidewalk. 

His  wife  was  laughing,  yet  confused. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  make  yourself  so  con- 
spicuous," she  protested  in  a  low  voice. 

"Why  not?"  he  laughed.  "We  public  characters 
must  boost  one  another." 

"And  the  price,"  they  heard  the  doctor  declaim- 
ing, "is  only  one  dollar  per  bottle,  or  six  for  five 
dollars,  guar-aw-teed  not  only  to  drive  sciatic 
rheumatism  from  the  sys-tem,  but  to  cure  the  most 


3io  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

ob-stin-ate  cases  of  ague,  Bright's  disease,  cat-a- 
lepsy,  coughs,  colds,  cholera,  dys-pepsia,  ery-sip-e- 
las,  fever  and  chills,  ^as-tritis" — 

"And  so  on  down  to  X  Y  Z,  etc.,"  commented 
Wallingford  as  they  walked  away. 

His  wife  looked  up  at  him  curiously. 

"Jim,  did  you  honestly  take  four  bottles  of  that 
medicine  ?"  she  wanted  to  know. 

"Take  it?"  he  repeated  in  amazement.  "Cer- 
tainly not!  It  isn't  meant  for  wise  people  to  take. 
It  wouldn't  do  them  any  good." 

"It  wouldn't  do  anybody  any  good,"  she  decided 
with  a  trace  of  contempt. 

"Guess  again,"  he  advised  her.  "That  dope  has 
cured  a  million  people  that  had  nothing  the  matter 
with  'em." 

At  the  Hotel  Deriche  in  the  adjoining  block  they 
turned  into  the  huge,  garishly  decorated  dining- 
room  for  their  after-theater  supper.  They  had  been 
in  the  town  only  two  days,  but  the  head  waiter 
already  knew  to  come  eagerly  to  meet  them,  to 
show  them  to  the  best  table  in  the  room,  and  to 
assign  them  the  best  waiter;  also  the  head  waiter 
himself  remained  to  take  the  order,  to  suggest  a 
delicate,  new  dish  and  to  name  over,  at  Walling- 


A   STRAIGHT   BUSINESS  311 

ford's  solicitation,  the  choice  wines  in  the  cellar 
that  were  not  upon  the  wine-list. 

This  little  formality  over,  Wallingford  looked 
about  him  complacently.  A  pale  gentleman  with 
a  jet-black  beard  bowed  to  him  from  across  the 
room. 

"Doctor  Lazzier,"  observed  .Wallingford  to  his 
wife.  "Most  agreeable  chap  and  has  plenty  of 
money." 

He  bent  aside  a  little  to  see  past  his  wife's  hat, 
and  exchanged  a  suave  salutation  with  a  bald- 
headed  young  man  who  was  with  two  ladies  and 
who  wore  a  dove-gray  silk  bow  with  his  evening 
clothes. 

"Young  Corbin,"  explained  Wallingford,  "of  the 
Corbin  and  Paley  department  store.  He  had  about 
two  dollars  a  week  spending  money  till  his  father 
died,  and  now  he  and  young  Paley  are  turning 
social  flip-flaps  at  the  rate  of  twenty  a  minute. 
He  belongs  to  the  Mark  family  and  he's  great  pals 
with  me.  Looks  good  for  him,  don't  it  ?" 

"Jim,"  she  said  in  earnest  reproval,  "you  mustn't 
talk  that  way." 

"Of  course  I'm  only  joking,"  he  returned.  "You 
know  I  promised  you  I'd  stick  to  the  straight  and 


312  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

narrow.  I'll  keep  my  word.  Nothing  but  straight 
business  for  me  hereafter." 

He,  too,  was  quite  serious  about  it,  and  yet  he 
smiled  as  he  thought  of  young  Corbin.  Another 
man,  of  a  party  just  being  shown  to  a  table,  nodded 
to  him,  and  Mrs.  Wallingford  looked  up  at  her  hus- 
band with  admiration. 

"Honestly,  how  do  you  do  it?"  she  inquired. 
"We  have  only  been  here  a  little  over  forty-eight 
hours,  and  yet  you  have  already  picked  up  a  host 
of  nice  friends." 

"I  patronize  only  the  best  saloons,"  he  replied 
with  a  grin;  then,  more  seriously:  "This  is  a 
mighty  rich  little  city,  Fannie.  I  could  organize  a 
stock  company  here,  within  a  week,  for  anything 
from  a  burglar's  trust  to  a  church  consolidation." 

"It's  a  pretty  place,"  she  admitted.  "I  like  it  very 
much  from  what  I  have  seen  of  it." 

He  chuckled. 

"Looks  like  a  spending  town,"  he  returned ;  "and 
where  they  spend  a  wad  they're  crazy  to  make  one. 
Give  me  one  of  these  inland  society  towns  for  the 
loose,  long  green.  New  York's  no  place  to  start 
an  honest  business,"  and  again  he  chuckled.  "By 
the  way,  Fannie,"  he  added  after  a  pause,  "what 


A    STRAIGHT    BUSINESS  313 

do  you  think  of  my  going  into  the  patent-medicine 
line?" 

"How  do  you  mean?"  she  inquired,  frowning. 

"Oh,  on  a  big  scale,"  he  replied.  "Advertise  it 
big,  manufacture  it  big." 

She  studied  it  over  in  musing  silence. 

"I  don't  mind  what  you  do  so  long  as  it  is 
honest,"  she  finally  said. 

"Good.  I'll  hunt  up  Quagg  to-morrow  and  spring 
it  on  him." 

"You  don't  mean  that  dreadful  quack  medicine 
he's  selling  on  the  street,  do  you?"  she  protested. 

"Why  not  ?  I  don't  know  that  it's  worthless,  and 
I  do  know  that  Quagg  has  sold  it  on  street  corners 
for  twenty  years  from  coast  to  coast.  He  goes  back 
to  the  same  towns  over  and  over,  and  people  buy 
who  always  bought  before.  Looks  like  a  good  thing 
to  me.  Quagg  was  a  regular  doctor  when  he  was  a 
kid ;  had  a  real  diploma  and  all  that,  but  no  practice 
and  no  patience.  Joke.  Giggle." 

The  oysters  came  on  now,  and  they  talked  of 
other  things,  but  while  they  were  upon  the  meat 
Doctor  Lazzier,  having  finished,  came  across  to 
shake  hands  with  his  friend  of  a  day,  and  was 
graciously  charmed  to  meet  Mrs.  Wallingford. 


3i4  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

"Sit  down,"  invited  J.  Rufus.  "Won't  you  try 
a  glass  of  this?  It's  very  fair,"  and  he  raised  a 
practised  eyebrow  to  the  waiter. 

The  doctor  delicately  pushed  down  the  edge  of 
the  ice-wet  napkin  until  he  could  see  the  label,  and 
he  gave  an  involuntary  smile  of  satisfaction  as  he 
recognized  the  vintage.  The  head  waiter  had  timed 
the  exact  second  to  take  that  bottle  out  of  the  ice- 
pail,  had  wrapped  the  wet  napkin  about  it  and 
almost  reverently  filled  glasses.  Occasionally  he 
came  over  and  felt  up  inside  the  hollow  on  the 
bottom  of  the  bottle. 

"Delighted,"  confessed  the  doctor,  and  sat  down 
quite  comfortably. 

"You  may  smoke  if  you  like,  Doctor,"  offered 
Mrs.  Wallingford,  smiling.  "I  don't  seem  to  feel 
that  a  man  is  comfortable  unless  he  is  smoking." 

"To  tell  the  truth,  he  isn't,"  agreed  the  doctor 
with  a  laugh,  and  accepting  a  choice  cigar  from 
Wallingford  he  lit  it. 

The  waiter  came  with  an  extra  glass  and  filled 
'for  all  three  of  them. 

"By  the  way,  Doctor,"  said  Wallingford,  watch- 
ing the  pouring  of  the  wine  with  a  host's  anxiety, 
"J  think  of  going  into  the  patent-medicine  business 


A    STRAIGHT    BUSINESS  315 

on  a  large  scale,  and  I  believe  I  shall  have  to  have 
you  on  the  board  of  directors." 

"Couldn't  think  of  it!"  objected  the  doctor 
hastily.  "You  know,  professional  ethics — "  and  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"That's  so,"  admitted  Wallingford.  "We  can't 
have  you  on  the  board,  but  we  can  have  you  for  a 
silent  stock-holder." 

"Open  to  the  same  objection,"  declared  the  doc- 
tor, with  another  dubious  shrug,  as  he  took  up  his 
glass. 

He  tasted  the  wine;  he  took  another  sip,  then 
another — slow,  careful  sips,  so  that  no  drop  of  it 
should  hasten  by  his  palate  unappreciated.  Walling- 
ford did  not  disturb  him  in  that  operation.  He  had 
a  large  appreciation  himself  of  the  good  things  of 
this  world,  and  the  proper  way  to  do  them  homage. 

The  doctor  took  a  larger  sip,  and  allowed  the 
delicate  liquid  to  flow  gently  over  his  tongue.  Wall- 
ingford was  really  a  splendid  fellow ! 

"What  sort  of  patent  medicine  are  you  going  to. 
manufacture?"  asked  the  doctor  by  way  of  court- 
esy, but  still  "listening"  to  the  taste  of  the  wine. 

Wallingford  laughed. 

"I  haven't  just  decided  as  yet,"  he  announced. 


3i6  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"The  medicine  is  only  an  incident.  What  we're 
going  to  invest  in  is  advertising." 

"I  see,"  replied  the  doctor,  laughing  in  turn. 

"Advertising  is  a  great  speculation,"  went  on 
Wallingford,  with  a  reminiscent  smile.  "Take 
Hawkins'  Bitters,  for  instance;  nine  per  cent,  cheap 
whisky  flavored  with  coffee  and  licorice,  and  the 
balance  pure  water.  Hawkins  had  closed  a  fifty- 
thousand-dollar  advertising  contract  before  he  was 
quite  sure  whether  he  was  going  to  sell  patent  medi- 
cine or  shoe  polish.  The  first  thing  he  decided  on 
was  the  name,  and  he  had  to  do  that  in  a  hurry  to 
get  his  advertising  placed.  Hawkins'  Bitters  was 
familiar  to  ten  million  people  before  a  bottle  of  it 
had  been  made.  It  was  only  last  summer  that 
Hawkins  sold  out  his  business  for  a  cool  two  mil- 
lion and  went  to  Europe." 

"His  decoction  is  terrible  stuff,"  commented  the 
doctor,  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger;  "but  it  cer- 
tainly has  a  remarkable  sale." 

"I  should  say  it  has!"  agreed  Wallingford.  "The 
drug-stores  sell  it  to  temperance  people  by  the  case, 
and  in  the  dry  states  you'll  find  every  back  yard 
littered  with  empty  Hawkins'  Bitters  bottles." 

A  half-dozen  entertaining  stories   of  the  kind 


A   STRAIGHT   BUSINESS  317 

Wallingford  told  his  guest,  and  by  the  time  he  was 
through  Doctor  Lazzier  began  himself  to  have 
large  visions  of  enormous  profits  to  be  made  in  the 
patent-medicine  business.  Somehow,  the  very  waist- 
coat of  young  J.  Rufus  seemed,  in  its  breadth  and 
gorgeousness,  a  guarantee  of  enormous  profits,  no 
matter  what  business  he  discussed.  But  the  doctor's 
very  last  remark  was  upon  the  sacredness  of  med- 
ical ethics!  When  he  was  gone  there  was  a  con- 
spicuous silence  between  Wallingford  and  his  wife 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  she  asked : 

"Jim,  are  you  actually  going  to  start  a  patent- 
medicine  company?" 

"Certainly  I  am,"  he  replied. 

"And  will  Doctor  Lazzier  take  stock  in  it?" 

"He  certainly  will,"  he  assured  her.  "I  figure 
him  for  from  ten  to  twenty-five  thousand." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IN  WHICH  WALLINGFORD  ORGANIZES  THE  DOCTOR 
QUAGG  PEERLESS  SCIATACATA  COMPANY 

AT  THE  Benson  House  J.  Rufus  found  Doc- 
tor Quagg  with  a  leg  propped  up  on  a  chair, 
and  himself  in  a  state  of  profound  profanity. 

"What's  the  matter,  Doc?"  asked  Wallingford. 

"Sciatic  rheumatism!"  howled  the  martyr.  "It's 
gettin'  worse  every  year.  Every  time  I  go  on  the 
street  for  a  night  I  know  I'm  goin'  to  suffer.  That's 
why  I  keep  it  up  so  late  and  spiel  myself  hoarse  in 
the  neck.  I  jumped  into  town  just  yesterday  and 
got  a  reader  from  these  city  hall  pirates.  They 
charged  me  twenty-five  iron  men  for  my  license  for 
the  week.  I  go  out  and  make  one  pitch,  and  that's 
all  I  get  for  my  twenty-five." 

"Sciatic  rheumatism's  a  tough  dose,"  commis- 
erated Wallingford.  "Why  don't  you  take  five  or 
six  bottles  of  the  Peerless  Sciatacata?" 

The  answer  to  this  was  a  storm  of  fervid  exple- 
tives which  needed  no  diagram.  Wallingford, 


THE    SCIATACATA    COMPANY      319 

chuckling,  sat  down  and  gloated  over  the  doctor's 
misery,  lighting  a  big,  fat  cigar  to  gloat  at  better 
ease.  He  offered  a  cigar  to  Quagg. 

"I  daresn't  smoke,"  swore  that  invalid. 

"And  I  suppose  you  daresn't  drink,  either,"  ob- 
served Wallingford.  "Well,  that  doesn't  stop  me, 
you  know." 

Wearily  the  doctor  indicated  a  push-button. 

"You'll  have  to  ring  for  a  boy  yourself,"  said 
he. 

When  the  boy  came  Wallingford  ordered  a  high- 
ball. 

"And  what's  yours,  sir?"  asked  the  boy,  turning 
to  the  doctor. 

"Lithia,  you  bullet-headed  nigger!"  roared  the 
doctor  with  a  twinge  of  pain  in  his  leg.  "That's 
twice  to-day  I've  had  to  tell  you  I  can't  drink  any- 
thing but  lithia.  Get  out !" 

The  boy  "got,"  grinning. 

"Seriously,  though,  old  man,"  said  Wallingford, 
judging  that  the  doctor  had  been  aggravated  long 
enough,  "your  condition  must  be  very  bad  for  busi- 
ness, and  I've  come  to  make  you  a  proposition  to  go 
into  the  manufacture  of  the  Peerless  on  a  large 
scale." 


320  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

The  doctor  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  shaking 
his  head  despondently. 

"You  can't  get  spielers,"  he  declared.  "I've  tried 
it.  Once  I  made  up  a  lot  of  the  Sciatacata  and  sent 
out  three  men ;  picked  the  best  I  could  find  that  had 
made  good  with  street-corner  pitches  in  other  lines, 
and  their  sales  weren't  half  what  mine  would  be; 
moreover,  they  got  drunk  on  the  job,  didn't  pay  for 
their  goods,  and  were  a  nuisance  any  way  you  took 
'em." 

Wallingford  laughed. 

"I  didn't  mean  that  we  should  manufacture  the 
priceless  remedy  for  street  fakers  to  handle,"  he 
explained.  "I  propose  to  start  a  big  factory  to  sup- 
ply drug-stores  through  the  jobbing  trade,  to  spend 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  advertising  right  off 
the  bat,  give  you  stock  in  the  company  for  the  use 
of  your  formula,  and  a  big  salary  to  superintend 
the  manufacture.  That  will  do  away  with  your 
exposure  to  the  night  air,  stop  the  increase  of  your 
sciatica,  and  make  you  more  money.  Why,  Doc, 
just  to  begin  with  we'll  give  you  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  stock." 

It  took  Doctor  Quagg  some  time  to  recover  from 
the  shock  of  that  much  money. 


THE    SCIATACATA    COMPANY      321 

"I've  heard  of  such  things,"  said  he  gratefully, 
"but  I  never  supposed  it  could  happen  to  me." 

"You  don't  need  to  put  up  a  cent,"  went  on  Wall- 
ingford.  "And  I  don't  need  to  put  up  a  cent.  We'll 
use  other  people's  money." 

"Where  are  you  going  to  get  your  share  ?"  asked 
the  doctor  suspiciously.  "Are  you  going  to  have 
a  salary,  too?" 

"No,"  said  Wallingford.  "We'll  pay  you  thirty- 
five  dollars  to  start  with  as  superintendent  of  the 
manufacturing  department,  but  I  won't  ask  for  a 
salary;  I'll  take  a  royalty  of  one  cent  a  bottle  as 
manager  of  the  company.  I'll  take  five  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  stock  for  my  services  in  promo- 
tion, and  then  for  selling  the  stock  I'll  take  twenty- 
five  per  cent,  of  the  par  value  for  all  I  place,  but 
will  take  it  out  in  stock  at  the  market  rate.  We'll 
organize  for  half  a  million  and  begin  selling  stock 
at  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar,  and  I'll  guarantee  to 
raise  for  us  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand 
net  cash — twenty-five  thousand  for  manufacturing 
and  one  hundred  thousand  for  advertising." 

The  doctor  drew  a  long  breath. 

"If  you  can  do  that  you're  a  wonder,"  he  de- 
clared; "but  it  don't  seem  to  me  you're  taking 


322  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

enough  for  yourself.  You're  giving  me  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  and  you're  only  taking  five;  you're 
giving  me  thirty-five  dollars  a  week  and  you're  only 
taking  a  cent  a  bottle.  It  seems  to  me  the  job  of 
organizing  and  building  up  such  a  company  is 
worth  as  much  as  the  Sciatacata." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me,"  protested  J.  Rufus 
modestly.  "I'll  get  along  all  right.  I'm  satisfied. 
We'll  organize  the  company  to-day." 

"You  can't  get  all  that  money  together  in  a  day !" 
exclaimed  the  doctor  in  amazement. 

"Oh,  no;  I  don't  expect  to  try  it.  I'll  put  up  all 
the  money  necessary.  We  want  five  directors,  and 
we  have  three  of  them  now,  you  and  my  wife  and 
I.  Do  you  know  anybody  around  the  hotel  that 
would  serve  ?" 

The  doctor  snorted  contemptuously. 

"Nobody  that's  got  any  money  or  responsibility," 
he  asserted. 

"They  don't  need  to  have  any  money,  and  we 
don't  want  them  to  have  any  responsibility,"  pro- 
tested Wallingford.  "Anybody  of  voting  age  will 
do  for  us  just  now." 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor  reflectively,  "the  night 
clerk's  a  pretty  good  fellow,  and  the  head  dining- 


THE    SCIATACATA    COMPANY      323 

room  girl  here  has  always  been  mighty  nice  to 
me.  She's  some  relation  to  the  proprietor  and 
she's  been  here  for  five  years." 

"Good,"  said  Wallingford.  "I'll  telephone  out 
for  a  lawyer." 

There  was  no  telephone  in  the  room,  but  down- 
stairs Wallingford  found  a  pay  'phone  and  selected 
a  lawyer  at  random  from  the  telephone  directory. 
Within  two  hours  Wallingford  and  his  wife,  Doc- 
tor Quagg,  Albert  Blesser  and  Carrie  Schwam  had 
gravely  applied  for  a  charter  of  incorporation  under 
the  laws  of  the  state,  for  The  Doctor  Quagg  Peer- 
less Sciatacata  Company,  with  a  capital  stock  of 
one  thousand  dollars,  fully  paid  in.  As  he  signed 
his  name  the  doctor  laughed  like  a  school-boy. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "I'm  going  to  get  my  hair  cut." 

Wallingford  stopped  him  in  positive  fright. 

"Don't  you  dare  do  it!"  he  protested. 

"Is  that  hair  necessary  to  the  business?"  asked 
the  doctor,  crestfallen. 

"Absolutely,"  declared  Wallingford.  "Why,  man, 
that  back  curtain  of  yours  is  ten  per  cent,  divi- 
dends." 

"Then  I'll  wear  it,"  agreed  the  doctor  resignedly ; 
"but  I  hate  to.  You  know  I've  honed  for  years 


324  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

to  quit  this  batting  around  the  country,  and  just 
ached  to  wear  short  hair  and  a  derby  hat  like  a  white 
man." 

Wallingford  looked  at  the  weather-bronzed  face 
and  shook  his  head. 

"What  a  pity  that  would  be!"  he  declared. 
"However,  Doc,  your  wanderings  cease  from  this 
minute,  and  your  salary  begins  from  to-day." 

"Fine,"  breathed  the  doctor.  "I  say,  Walling- 
ford, then  suppose  you  order  me  about  three  gross 
of  bottles  and  some  fresh  labels.  I'll  get  the  drugs 
myself  and  start  in  making  a  supply  of  the  Sciata- 
cata." 

"You  just  nurse  your  leg,"  advised  Wallingford. 
"Why,  man,  when  we  start  manufacturing  the  Peer- 
less it  will  be  in  vats  holding  a  hundred  gallons, 
and  will  be  bottled  by  machinery  that  will  fill,  cork 
and  label  a  hundred  bottles  a  minute.  You're  to 
superintend  mixing;  that's  your  job." 

It  took  many  days,  days  of  irksome  loafing  for 
the  doctor,  before  they  had  their  final  incorpora- 
tion papers.  Immediately  they  elected  themselves 
as  directors,  made  Quagg  president,  Wallingford 
secretary  and  Albert  Blesser  treasurer,  and  voted 
for  an  increase  of  capitalization  to  one-half  million 


THE    SCIATACATA   COMPANY      325 

dollars.  They  gave  Quagg  his  hundred  shares  and 
Wallingford  his  fifty;  they  voted  Quagg  his  salary 
and  Wallingford  his  royalty ;  also  they  voted  Wall- 
ingford an  honorarium  of  twenty-five  per  cent., 
payable  in  stock,  for  disposing  of  such  of  the 
treasury  shares  as  they  needed  issued,  and  imme- 
diately Wallingford,  who  had  spent  the  interim  in 
cultivating  acquaintances,  began  to  secure  investors. 

He  sold  more  than  mere  stock,  however.  He  sold 
Doctor  Quagg's  hair  and  sombrero ;  he  sold  glowing 
word  pictures  of  immense  profits,  and  he  sold  the 
success  of  all  other  patent-medicine  companies;  he 
sold  his  own  imposing  height  and  broad  chest,  his 
own  jovial  smile  and  twinkling  eye,  his  own  pros- 
perous grooming  and  good  feeding — and  those  who 
bought  felt  themselves  blessed. 

First  of  all,  he  sold  fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth 
for  twenty-five  thousand  to  young  Corbin,  where- 
upon Mr.  Blesser,  as  per  instructions,  resigned  from 
the  treasurership  and  directorate  in  favor  of  Mr. 
Corbin.  Wallingford  got  fifteen  thousand  dollars 
from  Doctor  Lazzier,  and  ten  from  young  Paley, 
and  with  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  the  treasury  sent 
for  an  advertising  man  and  gave  out  a  hundred- 
thousand-dollar  contract, 


326  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

"For  the  first  half  of  this  campaign,"  he  ex- 
plained to  the  advertising  man,  "I  want  this  one  ad 
spread  everywhere:  'Laugh  at  That  Woozy  Feel- 
ing.' This  is  to  cover  the  top  half  of  the  space  in 
good,  plain,  bold  letters.  In  place  of  leaving  the 
bottom  blank  for  kids  to  scribble  reasons  of  their 
own  why  you  should  laugh  at  that  woozy  feeling, 
we'll  put  gray  shadow-figures  there — grandpa  and 
grandma  and  pa  and  ma  and  Albert  and.  Henry  and 
Susan  and  Grace  and  little  Willie,  all  laughing  fit 
to  kill.  And  say,  have  it  a  real  laugh.  Have  it  the 
sort  of  a  laugh  that'll  make  anybody  that  looks  at 
it  want  to  be  happy.  Of  course,  later,  I  want  you 
to  cover  up  the  bottom  half  of  that  advertisement 
with:  'Use  Doctor  Quagg's  Peerless  Sciatacata,'  or 
something  like  that,  but  I'll  furnish  you  the  copy  for 
that  when  the  time  comes.  It  will  be  printed  right 
over  the  laughing  faces." 

"It  should  make  a  very  good  ad,"  commented 
the  agent  with  enthusiasm,  writing  out  the  instruc- 
tions Wallingford  gave  him,  and  willing  to  approve 
of  anything  for  that  size  contract. 

Wallingford  went  home  to  his  wife,  filled  with  a 
virtuous  glow. 

"You  know,  there's  something  I  like  about  this 


THE    SCIATACATA   COMPANY      327 

straight  business,  Fannie,"  said  he.  "It  gives  a  fel- 
low a  sort  of  clean  feeling.  I'm  going  to  build  up 
a  million-dollar  business  and  make  everybody  con- 
cerned in  it  rich,  including  myself.  Already  I've 
placed  one  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
stock,  have  fifty  thousand  dollars  cash  in  the  treas- 
ury, and  fifty-five  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock 
for  myself." 

She  looked  puzzled. 

"I  thought  you  were  to  get  only  twenty-five  per 
cent,  for  selling  the  stock." 

He  chuckled;  shoulders,  chest  and  throat,  eyes 
and  lips  and  chin,  he  chuckled. 

"Twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  par  value,"  said 
he,  "payable  in  stock  at  the  market  price." 

"I  don't  see  the  difference,"  she  protested.  "I'm 
sure  I  thought  it  was  to  be  straight  twenty-five  per 
cent.,  and  I'm  sure  all  the  members  of  the  company 
thought  so." 

He  patiently  explained  it  to  her. 

"Don't  you  see,  if  I  sell  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  stock,  I  get  the  same  as  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  for  it,  and  with  that  buy  fifty 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock?  Of  course  I  get 
it  at  the  same  price  as  others — fifty  per  cent." 


328  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

"Did  they  understand  you'd  get  fifty  thousand 
instead  of  twenty-five  thousand?"  she  asked. 

He  chuckled  again. 

"If  they  didn't  they  will,"  he  admitted. 

She  pondered  over  that  thoughtfully  for  a  while. 

"Is  that  straight  business?"  she  inquired. 

"Of  course  it's  straight  business  or  I  wouldn't 
be  doing  it.  It  is  perfectly  legitimate.  You  just 
don't  understand." 

"No,"  she  confessed,  "I  guess  I  don't;  only  I 
thought  it  was  just  twenty-five  per  cent." 

"It  is  twenty-five  per  cent.,"  he  insisted,  and  then 
he  gave  it  up.  "You'd  better  quit  thinking,"  he 
advised.  "It'll  put  wrinkles  in  your  brow,  and  I'm 
the  one  that  has  the  wrinkles  scheduled.  I've  just 
contracted  for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  advertising,  and  I've  got  to  go  out  to  sell  enough 
stock  to  bring  in  the  cash.  Also,  I've  rented  a  fac- 
tory, and  to-morrow  I'm  going  to  let  out  contracts 
for  bottling  machinery,  vats  and  fixtures.  I've 
already  ordered  the  office  furniture.  You  ought 
to  see  it.  It's  swell.  I'm  having  some  lithographed 
stationery  made,  too,  embossed  in  four  colors,  with 
a  picture  of  Doctor  Quagg  in  the  corner." 

"How  much  stock  has  the  doctor?"  she  asked. 


THE    SCIATACATA    COMPANY      329 

"Ten  thousand." 

"Is  that  all  he's  going  to  have?"  she  wanted  to 
know. 

"Why,  certainly,  that's  all  he's  going  to  have. 
I  made  the  bargain  with  him  and  he's  satisfied." 

"Ten  thousand  dollars'  worth  out  of  a  half-mil- 
lion-dollar corporation?  Why,  Jim,  for  his  medi- 
cine, upon  which  the  whole  business  is  built,  he  only 
gets — how  much  is  that  of  all  of  it?" 

"One  fiftieth,  or  two  per  cent.,"  he  told  her. 

"Two  per  cent. !"  she  gasped.  "Is  that  straight 
business,  Jim?" 

"Of  course  it's  straight  business,"  he  assured  her. 
"Of  course,"  and  he  smiled,  "Doc  didn't  stop  to 
figure  that  he  only  gets  two  per  cent  of  the  profits 
of  the  concern.  He  figures  that  he's  to  draw  divi- 
dends on  the  large  hunk  of  ten  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  stock,  and  he's  satisfied.  Why  aren't 
you?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied  slowly,  still  with  the 
vague  feeling  that  something  was  wrong.  "Really, 
Jim,  it  don't  seem  to  me  that  straight  business  is 
any  more  fair  than  crooked  business." 

Wallingford  was  hugely  disappointed. 

"And  that's  all  the  appreciation  I  get  for  con- 


330  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

fining  myself  to  the  straight  and  narrow!"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,  Jim,"  she  said,  with  in- 
stant contrition.  "You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am 
that  now,  since  we're  married,  you  have  settled 
down  to  honorable  things;  and  you'll  make  a  for- 
tune, I  know  you  will." 

"You  bet  I  will,"  he  agreed.  "In  the  meantime 
I  have  to  go  out  and  dig  up  seventy-five  thousand 
dollars  more  of  other  people's  money  to  put  into 
this  concern;  which  will  give  me  another  seventy- 
five  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock!  Straight 
business  pays,  Fannie!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

DOCTOR  QUAGG  PROVES  THAT  STRAIGHT  BUSINESS  IS  A 
DELUSION  AND  A  SNARE 

WITHIN  a  short  time  Wallingford  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  bill-boards  covered 
with  his  big  sign  ordering  the  public  to  "Laugh  at 
That  Woozy  Feeling,"  but  not  yet  telling  them  how 
to  do  it,  and  he  heard  people  idly  wondering  what 
the  answer  to  that  advertisement  was  going  to  be. 
Some  of  them  resented  having  puzzles  of  the  sort 
thrust  in  front  of  their  eyes,  others  welcomed  it 
as  a  cheerful  diversion.  Wallingford  smiled  at 
both  sorts.  He  knew  they  would  remember,  and 
firmly  link  together  the  mystery  and  the  solution. 
Cards  bearing  the  same  mandate  stared  down  at 
every  street-car  rider,  and  newspaper  readers  found 
it  impossible  to  evade  the  same  command.  All 
this  advertising,  for  the  appearance  of  which  Wall- 
ingford had  waited,  helped  him  to  sell  the  stock 
to  pay  for  itself,  and,  in  the  meantime,  he  was  busy 
331 


332  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

putting  into  his  new  factory  a  bottling  plant,  second 
in  its  facility  if  not  its  capacity,  to  none  in  the 
country.  He  installed  magnificent  offices  and  for 
the  doctor  prepared  an  impressive  private  apartment, 
this  latter  being  a  cross  between  an  alchemist's 
laboratory  and  a  fortune-teller's  oriental  salon; 
but  alas  and  alack !  the  first  day  the  doctor  walked 
into  his  new  office  he  had  his  hair  close-cropped  and 
wore  a  derby,  with  such  monstrous  effect  that  even 
Wallingford,  inured  as  he  was  to  most  surprises, 
recoiled  in  horror! 

From  that  moment  the  doctor  became  a  hard  one 
to  manage.  His  first  protest  was  against  the  Ben- 
son House,  the  old-fashioned,  moderate-rate  hotel 
which  he  had  always  patronized  and  had  always 
recommended  wherever  he  went.  Thereafter  he 
changed  boarding-houses  and  family  hotels  about 
every  two  weeks;  but  he  never  had  his  hair  cut 
after  the  once.  The  big  mixing  vate  that  Walling- 
ford installed  he  grew  to  hate.  He  was  used  to 
mixing  his  Sciatacata  in  a  hotel  water-pitcher  and 
filling  it  into  bottles  with  a  tin  funnel;  and  to  mix 
up  a  hundred  gallons  at  a  time  of  that  precious  com- 
pound seemed  a  cold,  commercial  proposition  which 
was  so  much  a  sacrilege  that  he  went  out  and 


A    DELUSION    AND    A    SNARE      333 

"painted  the  town,"  winding  up  in  a  fight  with  a 
cigar-store  Indian.  He  left  such  a  train  of  fire- 
works in  his  wake  that  Wallingford  heard  of  it  for 
weeks  afterward. 

To  J.  Rufus  the  affair  was  a  good  joke,  but  to 
the  other  gentlemen  of  the  company,  Corbin,  Paley 
and  Doctor  Lazzier  and  the  others  who  had  social 
reputations  to  maintain  as  well  as  business  interests 
to  guard,  the  affair  was  tragic,  not  merely  because 
one  of  their  number  had  become  intoxicated,  but 
that  it  should  be  this  particular  one,  and  that  he 
should  make  himself  so  conspicuous!  The  doctor 
repeated  his  escapade  within  a  week.  This  time  he 
took  a  notion  to  "circulate"  in  a  cab,  and  as  he  got 
more  mellow,  insisted  upon  sitting  up  with  the 
driver,  where  he  whooped  sonorously  every  time 
they  turned  a  corner.  This  time  he  finished  in  the 
hands  of  the  police,  and  Wallingford  was  called 
upon  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  bail  him  out. 
Friends  of  Corbin  and  Paley  and  the  other  exclu- 
sives  whom  Wallingford  had  selected  as  his  stock- 
holders began  to  drop  in  on  them  with  pleasant 
little  remarks  about  their  business  associate.  The 
doctor  had  been  bragging  widely  about  his  connec- 
tion with  them ! 


334  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

His  crowning  effort  came  when  he  continued  his 
celebration  of  one  night  through  the  next  day,  and 
drove  around  to  make  a  few  party  calls.  He  ap- 
peared like  a  specter  of  disgrace  in  Corbin's  private 
office  with: 

"Hello,  old  pal,  come  out  and  have  a  drink!"  and 
gave  Corbin  a  hearty  slap  on  the  back. 

Corbin  gave  a  helpless  glance  across  at  the  three 
prim  young  ladies  on  the  other  side  of  his  open 
screen.  Back  of  him  a  solemn-visaged  old  book- 
keeper, who  was  both  a  deacon  and  Sunday-school 
superintendent,  looked  on  in  shocked  amazement. 

"Couldn't  begin  to  think  of  it,  Doctor,"  protested 
Corbin  nervously,  pulling  at  his  lavender  cravat, 
while  the  perspiration  broke  out  upon  his  bald  spot. 
"I  must  attend  to  business,  you  know." 

"Never  mind  the  business!"  insisted  the  doctor. 
"Wait  till  our  Sciatacata  factory  is  shipping  in  car- 
loads, partner,  and  you  can  afford  to  give  this  junk- 
shop  away." 

Paley,  happening  in  to  speak  to  Corbin,  created 
a  diversion  welcome  to  Corbin  but  unwelcome  to 
himself,  for  the  doctor  immediately  pounced  upon 
Paley  and  insisted  upon  taking  him  out  to  get  a 
drink,  and  the  only  way  that  narrow-framed  young 


A    DELUSION    AND    A    SNARE      335 

man  could  get  rid  of  him  was  to  go  along.  He 
rode  around  in  the  cab  with  him  for  a  while,  and 
tried  to  dissuade  him  from  calling  upon  Doctor 
Lazzier  and  the  other  stock-holders,  but  Quagg  was 
obdurate.  To  wind  up  the  evening's  performance 
he  appeared  on  a  prominent  street  corner  about  nine 
o'clock,  in  a  carriage  with  the  gasolene  torch  and 
the  life-size  anatomical  chart,  and  began  selling  the 
Peerless  Sciatacata,  calling  upon  the  names  of 
Wallingford,  Lazzier,  Corbin  and  Paley — his  "part- 
ners"— as  guarantees  of  his  sincerity  and  standing, 
and  as  sureties  of  the  excellence  of  the  priceless 
compound. 

Wallingford  heard  about  him  quickly,  for  the 
picturesque  Quagg  had  become  a  public  joy  and  all 
the  down-town  crowd  knew  well  about  him.  Wall- 
ingford went  down  to  the  corner  with  the  inten- 
tion of  putting  a  stop  to  the  exhibition,  but,  as  he 
looked,  at  the  doctor,  whose  hair  now  dropped  be- 
neath his  sombrero  to  nearly  its  old-time  length,  a 
new  thought  struck  him  and  he  went  quietly  away. 
The  next  day  Corbin  withdrew  from  the  treasurer- 
ship  and  Paley  from  the  directorate,  and  every 
one  of  the  directors  who  had  taken  the  places  of  the 
original  incorporators  did  likewise.  Intimate  rela- 


336  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

tionship  with   the   doctor  was  productive   of  too 
much  publicity  for  peaceful  enjoyment. 

It  was  just  at  this  time  that  the  agent  of  the 
advertising  concern  began  to  bother  Wallingford 
for  "copy"  on  the  last  half  of  his  contract.  Wall- 
ingford, to  placate  him,  finished  paying  for  the  con- 
tract and  took  the  cash  discount,  but  held  the  agent 
off  two  or  three  days  in  the  matter  of  the  "copy." 
He  was  not  quite  satisfied  about  the  wording  of  the 
advertisement.  He  sat  up  late  one  night  devising 
the  most  concise  and  striking  form  in  which  to 
present  the  merits  of  Doctor  Quagg's  Peerless 
Sciatacata,  and  in  the  morning  he  went  down  to  the 
office  prepared  to  mail  the  result  of  his  labor.  He 
found  upon  his  desk  this  note  from  the  restless 
Doctor  Quagg: 


Spring's  here.  I  never  stayed  in  one  place  so 
long  in  my  life.  You  can  have  my  salary  and  you 
can  have  my  ten  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stock. 
I  don't  want  it.  My  hair's  out  good  and  long  again 
and  I've  gone  back  on  the  road  to  sell  the  Sciata- 
cata. Yours  truly,  QUAGG. 


It  was  the  last  straw,  and  the  stock-holders'  meet- 
ing which    Wallingford   hastily   called   wore    the 


A    DELUSION    AND    A    SNARE      337 

greenish  pallor  peculiar  to  landlubbers  in  their  first 
sea  storm. 

"We  don't  need  Quagg,"  Wallingford  protested. 
"Our  contract  with  him  covers  any  rights  he  has  in 
the  title  of  the  medicine,  and  the  mere  fact  that  he 
is  not  with  us  does  not  need  to  prevent  our  going 
ahead." 

"Have  you  the  formula  for  his  preparation?" 
asked  Doctor  Lazzier  quietly. 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Wallingford  carelessly.  "I 
don't  see  that  that  need  stop  us." 

"Why  not?"  protested  young  Corbin.  "Our 
whole  business  is  built  upon  that  formula." 

Wallingford  smiled. 

"We  simply  must  stick  to  the  Sciatacata,"  re- 
sumed Wallingford.  "We  have  all  this  fine  station- 
ery printed,  with  the  full  name  of  the  Peerless  dope ; 
we  have  elaborate  booklets  and  circulars  about  it, 
and  the  first  delivery  of  ten  thousand  labels  is  here. 
There  will  be  no  trouble  in  getting  up  another  Peer- 
less Sciatacata  which  will  at  least  be  harmless,  but 
I  think  that  we  can  do  even  better  than  that.  I 
think  that  Doctor  Lazzier  can  furnish  us  a  good, 
handy,  cheap  prescription  for  sciatic  rheumatism." 

"Certainly  not,"  protested  Doctor  Lazzier  with 


338  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

vast  professional  indignation;  but  he  nevertheless 
winked  at  Wallingford. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Wallingford  to  Corbin ;  "I'll 
get  the  formula  all  right." 

"For  my  part  I'm  willing  to  sell  my  stock  at  ten 
per  cent,"  said  Corbin  with  infinite  disgust.  He 
was  thinking  at  that  very  moment  of  a  gaudy  "func- 
tion" he  was  to  attend  that  night,  one  marking 
quite  an  advance  in  his  social  climb,  and  he  almost 
dreaded  to  go.  "I  don't  like  to  lose  money,  but,  in 
this  case,  I'd  really  rather.  This  is  a  dreadful 
experience." 

The  rest  of  them  agreed  with  young  Corbin  in 
attitude,  if  not  in  words,  and  it  was  with  consider- 
able sadness  that  they  dispersed,  after  having  de- 
cided, somewhat  reluctantly,  that  Wallingford 
should  go  ahead  with  the  Sciatacata.  Pursuing  this 
plan  Wallingford  sent  away  the  copy  for  the  bot- 
tom half  of  the  great  woozy-feeling  advertisement. 

The  following  afternoon,  however,  came  the 
death-blow,  in  the  shape  of  a  most  hilarious  article 
in  the  local  papers.  In  a  neighboring  city  Doctor 
Quagg  had  gone  out  to  sell  the  Peerless  Sciatacata, 
had  been  caught  in  a  drizzle  of  spring  rain  and  had 
been  sent,  raving  angry,  to  the  hospital  with  a  most 


A    DELUSION    AND    A    SNARE      339 

severe  case  of  sciatic  rheumatism.  The  joke  of  it 
was  too  good.  The  local  papers,  as  a  mere  kindly 
matter  of  news  information,  published  a  list  of  the 
stock-holders  of  the  Doctor  Quagg  Peerless  Sciata- 
cata  Company. 

Wallingford,  with  that  item  before  him,  sat  and 
chuckled  till  the  tears  quivered  on  his  eyelashes; 
but,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  appreciation  of  the  fun 
in  the  case,  he  wired  to  the  agent  of  the  advertising 
company  to  cancel  his  previous  letter  of  instruc- 
tions, and  to  secure  him  at  least  a  week's  grace  be- 
fore forfeiture  of  the  contract;  then  he  proceeded 
quietly  to  telephone  the  stock-holders.  He  found 
great  difficulty  in  getting  the  use  of  his  line,  how- 
ever, for  the  stock-holders  were  already  calling  him 
up,  frantically,  tearfully,  broken-heartedly.  They 
were  all  ruined  through  their  connection  with  the 
Sciatacata ! 

"I'll  tell  you,  Fannie,"  said  he  at  dinner,  after 
pondering  over  a  new  thought  which  would  keep 
obtruding  itself  into  his  mind,  "this  thing  of  train- 
ing a  straight  business  down  to  weight  is  no  merry 
quip.  It's  more  trouble  and  risk  than  my  favorite 
game  of  promoting  for  revenue  only." 

"You  keep   right  on  at  it,  Jim,"   she  insisted. 


340  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"You'll  find  there  is  ever  so  much  more  satisfaction 
in  it  in  the  end." 

He  was  moody  all  through  dinner.  They  had 
tickets  for  the  theater  that  night  and  they  went, 
but  here,  too,  Wallingford  was  distrait,  and  he 
could  not  have  remembered  one  incident  of  the  play 
until  during  the  last  act,  when  his  brow  suddenly 
cleared.  When  they  went  back  to  the  hotel  he  led 
his  wife  into  the  dining-room,  and,  excusing  him- 
self for  a  moment,  went  to  the  telegraph  desk  and 
sent  a  telegram  to  Horace  G.  Daw,  of  Boston. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN  WHICH  YOU  ARE  TOLD  HOW  TO  LAUGH  AT  THAT 
WOOZY  FEELING 

TWO  days  later  Wallingford  called  a  conclave 
of  the  stock-holders  to  meet  one  Hamilton  G. 
Dorcas,  of  Boston,  who  had  come  to  consider  taking 
over  the  property  of  the  Doctor  Quagg  Peerless 
Sciatacata  Company.  Quite  hopefully  Doctor  Laz- 
zier,  young  Corbin,  young  Paley  and  the  others 
attended  that  meeting  for  the  disposal  of  the  con- 
cern which  had  already  eaten  up  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  good  cash ;  but  when 
they  began  talking  with  Mr.  Dorcas  they  were  not 
quite  so  extravagantly  hopeful.  Mr.  H.  G.  Dorcas 
was  a  tall,  thin,  black-haired,  black-eyed  and  black- 
mustached  young  man  in  ministerial  clothing,  who 
looked  astonishingly  like  Horace  G.  Daw,  if  any 
one  of  them  had  previously  known  that  young 
gentleman. 

"I  have  been  through  your  factory,"  said  Mr.  Dor- 
341 


342  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

cas  in  a  businesslike  manner,  "and  all  I  find  here  of 
any  value  to  me  is  your  second-hand  bottling  machin- 
ery and  vats  and  your  second-hand  office  furniture. 
For  those  I  am  prepared  to  pay  you  a  reasonable 
second-hand  price;  say,  about  fifteen  thousand  dol- 
lars." 

It  was  young  Corbin  who  put  up  the  loudest  pro- 
test. 

"Why,  man,  such  an  offer  is  preposterous!  Be- 
sides the  twenty-five  thousand  invested  in  the 
machinery,  fixtures  and  other  expenses,  we  have 
spent  exactly  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  adver- 
tising." 

Mr.  Dorcas  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  good  will  that  do  me  ?"  he  retorted.  "It's 
wasted." 

Deep  silence  followed.  The  stock-holders  knew 
that  a  hundred  thousand  had  actually  been  paid  out 
for  advertising  which,  of  course,  was  now  of  no 
value  whatever.  Only  Wallingford  knew  that,  the 
contract  not  being  completed,  part  of  it  could  be  re- 
bated, though  only  a  small  part,  but  he  was  not 
saying  anything.  Temptation  had  caught  up  with 
Wallingford,  had  wrestled  with  him  and  overthrown 
him! 


LAUGH  AT  THAT  WOOZY  FEELING  343 

"Yes,"  admitted  young  Paley  with  a  long,  long 
sigh,  "all  that  advertising  money  is  wasted." 

Young  Corbin  was  figuring. 

"Mr.  Dorcas,"  said  he,  "if  you  will  increase  your 
offer  by  two  thousand  dollars  I  am  inclined  to  ac- 
cept it  and  get  out  of  this  muddle  once  and  for  all." 

Mr.  Dorcas  himself  figured  very  carefully. 

"It  is  stretching  a  point  with  you,"  said  he,  "but 
I'll  give  it  to  you.  Understand,  though,  that  is  the 
last  cent." 

"I  am  not  in  favor  of  it,"  declared  Wallingford, 
thereby  putting  himself  upon  the  proper  side  for 
future  reference.  "It  leaves  us  with  a  net  cash  loss 
of  one  hundred  and  eight  thousand  dollars.  I'm  in 
favor  of  rigging  up  some  other  patent  medicine  and 
going  right  ahead  with  the  business.  A  slight 
assessment  on  our  stock,  or  an  agreement  to  pur- 
chase pro  rata,  among  ourselves,  a  small  amount  of 
the  treasury  stock  in  order  to  raise  about  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars  more,  will  put  us  in  shape 
to  go  ahead." 

If  he  intended  to  encourage  them  he  had  gone  the 
wrong  way  about  it.  They  recoiled  as  one  man 
from  that  thought.  Young  Corbin  jumped  to  his 
feet. 


344  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

"You  may  count  me  out,"  he  declared. 

"Doctor  Lazzier,"  pleaded  Wallingford,  "you  are 
in  favor  of  this  course?" 

"By  no  means,"  said  he.  "A  lot  of  my  friends 
are  'on/  and  some  of  my  patients  are  laughing  at 
me.  I  can't  afford  it.  Take  this  man's  offer.  Wait 
just  a  minute."  He  rose  to  his  feet.  "I'll  make 
that  a  formal  motion,"  and  he  did  so. 

With  no  dissenting  voice,  except  Wallingford's, 
that  motion  was  carried  through,  and  Wallingford 
spread  it  upon  the  minute-books  at  once.  Also  a 
committee  was  appointed  formally  to  close  the  busi- 
ness with  Mr.  Dorcas,  and  to  transfer  to  that  gentle- 
man, at  once,  all  the  properties,  rights  and  good- 
will of  the  company. 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Wallingford, 
much  crestfallen  in  appearance.  "I  still  protest 
against  giving  up,  but  I  blame  myself  for  coaxing 
you  into  this  unfortunate  affair." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  protested  Doctor  Lazzier, 
shaking  hands.  "You  meant  to  do  us  a  favor." 

They  all  agreed  with  the  doctor,  and  young  Cor- 
bin  felt  especially  sorry  for  Wallingford's  contri- 
tion. 


LAUGH  AT  THAT  WOOZY  FEELING  345 

Immediately  after  the  dispersal  of  the  meeting 
Mr.  Wallingford  and  "Mr.  Dorcas"  shook  hands 
ecstatically. 

"Blackie,  you're  handier  than  a  hollow  cane  in 
Drytown,"  exulted  Wallingford.  "Here's  where  I 
clean  up.  I  own  over  one  third  of  this  stock.  I 
have  invested  only  one  cheap  thousand  dollars  over 
and  above  my  expenses  since  I  got  here,  and  I'll 
get  a  third  of  this  seventeen  thousand  right  back 
again,  so  the  company,  up  to  date — and  I  own  it 
all — stands  me  just  a  little  less  than  what's  left  of 
my  winnings  on  that  noble  little  horse,  Whipsaw. 
Just  wait  a  minute  till  I  send  this  off  to  the  adver- 
tising company,"  and  he  wrote  rapidly  a  lengthy  tel- 
egram. 

After  he  sent  away  the  telegram  he  remained  at 
his  desk  a  few  moments,  sketching  on  one  of  the 
proofs  of  a  newspaper  "ad"  and  filling  in  the  lower 
part. 

"Here,"  said  he  to  Blackie,  "is  the  complete  ad- 
vertisement." 

Blackie  picked  up  the  proof  sheet  and  glanced 
over  it  in  evident  approval.  Taken  altogether,  it 
read; 


346  YOUNG    WALLINGFORD 

LAUGH    AT 
THAT   WOOZY   FEELING 

DRINK  GINGEREE! 

IT  PUTS  THE  GINGER  IN  YOU 
TEN  CENTS  AT  ALL  SODA  FOUNTAINS 

"Within  a  week,"  exulted  Wallingford,  "every- 
body in  the  middle  states  will  know  all  about  Gin- 
geree.  Before  that  time  I'll  have  Gingeree  in- 
vented, and  the  Gingeree  Company  organized  for 
half  a  million  dollars.  I'll  put  in  the  plant  and  the 
advertising  at  "one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  sell 
about  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  of  treasury  stock 
to  start  the  business,  then  sell  my  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  and  get  out" 

"You'll  have  to  go  out  of  town  to  sell  your 
stock,"  observed  Blackie. 

"Out  of  town !"  repeated  Wallingford.  "I  should 
say  not!  Writh  the  good  introduction  I  have  here? 
Not  any.  I'll  sell  stock  to  Doctor  Lazzier  and 
young  Corbin  and  young  Paley  and  the  rest  of  the 
bunch." 

Blackie  looked  at  his  friend  in  gasping  awe. 

"Great  guns!"  he  exploded.  "J.  Rufus,  if  you 
have  nerve  enough  even  to  figure  on  that  stunt,  I 
believe  you  can  pull  it  off!" 


LAUGH  AT  THAT  WOOZY  FEELING  347 

The  door  of  the  office  opened  and  Mrs.  Walling- 
ford  came  in. 

"Blackie  Daw !"  she  exclaimed.  "And  so  you  are 
in  town  and  mixed  up  in  Jim's  affairs !  Jim  Walling- 
ford,  now  I  know  you  are  not  conducting  a  straight 
business !" 

Blackie  only  grinned,  but  Mr.  Wallingford  was 
hurt. 

"You're  mistaken,  Fannie,"  said  he.  "You  sit 
right  down  there,  and  I'll  explain." 

He  did  so.  When  Wallingford  rejoined  her  in 
their  rooms  that  evening  she  had  had  time  to  think 
it  all  over.  She  had  found  no  arguments  to  combat 
Wallingford's  statement  of  the  case.  She  could 
not  find  words  to  overturn  his  words,  and  yet  there 
was  a  flaw  some  place  that  she  could  not  put  her 
finger  upon.  Knowing  this,  then,  and  condoning  it, 
was  she  not  a  part  sharer  in  his  guilt  ?  Yes,  and  no. 
For  a  solid  hour  she  searched  her  heart  and  she 
could  find  but  one  satisfactory  answer.  No  matter 
what  he  had  done  in  the  past  or  might  do  in  the 
future,  she  knew  that  she  loved  him,  and  whatever 
path  his  feet  might  tread,  she  knew  that  she  would 
walk  along  with  him.  She  had  thought  at  first  that 
she  might  guide  his  footsteps  into  better  ways,  but 


348  YOUNG   WALLINGFORD 

now  she  feared !  She  knew,  too,  that  in  remaining 
with  him  she  must  take  him  as  he  was. 

And  so,  when  he  came  to  her,  she  was  ready  with 
her  customary  kiss,  in  which  there  was  no  lack  of 
warmth;  nor  was  there  in  her  eyes  any  troubled 
look.  He  was  delighted  to  find  her  in  this  mood. 

"I  guess  you've  thought  it  all  over,  Fannie,"  said 
he,  "and  can  see  that  at  least  this  one  business  deal 
is  a  dead  straight  game,  just  as  any  good  business 
man  would  play  it." 

"Yes,"  she  reluctantly  admitted.  "I  am  afraid 
that  business,  even  straight  business,  is  sometimes 
conducted  along  such  lines." 

But  down  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  knew  better. 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


ENEWAL 

DURI. 


F\VM    ftf 

RENEWAL 
LD  URL 


,OC 


•-Series  4939 


DATE  S 

JUL  26 

DUES  WEEKS 
DATE  RECE 


REC'D  LD-UR 


251990 


ENT 

994 


ROM 
ED 


